Wake up, join the Guard, try not to die
by SilusCrow
Summary: A young man from the 20th century falls asleep in his apartment, and wakes up in the 41st millennium.  Can a college student survive in the Imperial Guard?  Rated M for language and violence.
1. Wake up and smell the promethium

It was morning. At least, it felt like morning. It was a strange sensation, not knowing what time it was. Before the young man could open his eyes though, he heard yelling in a language he didn't immediately recognize. He was grabbed by the arms and hauled out of bed shortly after being seized. Just as he managed to open his eyes, a bag was forced over his head, something smacked him in the back of the head, and he was out like a light once more.

The first thing he noticed when he awoke a second time was that his head hurt like mad. The second thing was that his hands were tied to what he could only assume was a chair. He groaned, and a few seconds later, that bag was yanked off his head. There was a brief moment of disorientation, and then everything came into focus, more or less. From what he could see, there was a table in front of him, a light hanging from the ceiling above the table, and a chair sitting across from him, which was currently empty. He looked around, and even though the rest of the room was dark, it felt like someone else was here.

"Anyone here?" asked the boy, his tone irritable and tired as opposed to scared. What was there to be scared of anyway right now? Maybe it was the lack of a threat, maybe it was him suffering from shock from his rude awakening. Either way, the young man was feeling rather mellow.

"Ah, so it can speak." came a voice from the shadows. The voice was gruff, but defiantly female. The accent was…strange. There was a hint of Queen's English in there, but it sounded different. Out of the shadows stepped an imposing woman in a long military greatcoat with epaulets on the shoulders and a rather large, peaked hat. Her hair was black and falling in surprisingly long ringlets for someone that, apparently, wore a military uniform. Her left eye was covered in a black patch, and a long, nasty looking scar stretched down from the lower part of the patch, stopping at an almost right angle on her jawline. There were ranks, insignias and motifs all over her uniform, but most the man couldn't make out. One he did see sent a shiver up and down his spine.

It was a double headed eagle.

He had only ever seen such an insignia in science fiction. Either someone was playing a sick, sick trick on him, or...

"I will give you ten seconds to tell me who you are." said the woman, withdrawing what was obviously a gun. Judging from the size and general shape, it was a laspistol.

And now the man was scared. "Woah woah woah!" said the man sitting back, "No need for that! My name is Michael. I'm…" He looked at the woman's uniform, then back at her face. "I'm a civilian."

"Right," she said, the tone in her voice making it clear she didn't trust him, "And what were you doing in the barracks?" Michael noted that she didn't bother lowering the pistol.

"I swear by everything good and Holy that I don't know. I just woke up there." The woman pointed the pistol at him, and he began to actually panic. "I'm telling the truth! Why would I lie to the person pointing a gun at me?"

* * *

This…man, she supposed she'd term him, was interesting to say the least. His accent was archaic at best (in modern terms, his accent is generic American with a very slight southern drawl), his clothing was strange, and the fact that he appeared in the bunk room of the barracks was just down right bizarre. Taking a further look at him, the woman realized that he probably was, in fact, a civilian. His hair, which was a dark brown and mostly straight, curling a little at the very ends, was too long for military regulation. It hung down to the middle of the back of his neck and partly covered his ears; a short hairstyle by civilian terms she figured. He wasn't muscular, not like the Guardsmen under her command, but he wasn't fat either. To her, he looked, well, average. The main interesting fact was that he stood almost a head taller than most of her Guardsmen. She figured he was almost 6", which was getting close to the height of the Adeptus Astartes (Space Marines), who's minimum height was about 7".

Despite his average appearance and that it corroborated with his claim of being a civilian, she was still planning to execute him simply because she assumed that he was lying. After all, even the most normal person could be a heretic or something. However, she halted when he brought up that he was telling the truth, and that he wouldn't dare lie to the person pointing a gun at him. She didn't trust him, but this was at least interesting, so she decided to continue to question him. He wasn't going anywhere, so she could just execute him at her leisure.

"Then what were you doing sleeping in the barracks?" she asked simply, her hand still on the gun. The man gave an attempted shrug. "Last thing I remember," stated the man, a hint of fear in his voice, "was going to sleep in my apartment. Next thing I know, I'm getting beat over the head and tied to a chair!"

Now, the woman wasn't an expert at High Gothic, or even at telling if someone was lying or not. But the way this young man spoke, the fear in his voice and how fervently he stuck to his story, it made her feel that he was, maybe, telling the truth.

Faltering for a moment, the woman holstered her service pistol. "I am Commissar Whilimina Fargas, and you will tell me EVERYTHING, or so help me Emperor, I will execute you and throw you to the rats."

* * *

Oh God, she was a Commissar. That seemed to hit home more than that she, Commissar Mina as he called her in his head, used the phrase "so help me Emperor". The man's mind began to bubble with previously useless information. He snapped out of his daze long enough to look at Commissar Fargas and ask a simple question. "Ma'am, can I have my glasses?" The woman gave him a quizzical look, so Michael decided to elaborate. "I can't see without them. Bad eyesight. They're rectangle framed, might be by where I was found?"

At this request, the Commissar stared at the man for a moment. She then turned around, opened a previously unseen door and said a few words with the person on the other side. Closing the door and turning back around, she sat down. "They're on their way. Now talk."

The man nodded, and began. "I was a student. In, um. Entertainment media." It was easier than saying he was an animation student he figured. "Last thing I remember, like I said, was going to sleep. In my apartment. I don't remember anything about going to any barracks. And," he said, squinting and leaning forward to get a better view of the double eagle pin, "judging from THAT, I'm a hell of a long way from home."

"Why would this," asked the Commissar, pointing at her pin, "mean you're a long way from home?" The man looked at the woman with as much seriousness as he could without his glasses. "Ma'am, what year is it? Judging from that, I'm going to assume it's somewhere between 39,000 and 41,000 AD, give or take a few hundred years. And seeing as you used the word Emperor, I'm going to guess I'm right. I'm out of space and time by about….35,000 to 39,000 years, give or take."

* * *

The man's words hit Mina like an Earthshaker round. Maybe he was lying, and Emperor's light, she hoped he was. She hoped that he was the best damn liar that she ever met, and that something like this had not happened. But what made her doubt that he was lying was how calmly he said it. It was like he was talking about the weather or something. It was downright unnerving. "So," she said slowly, "you're from…the year 2000? Or around there?"

"2010 to be exact." he said, unnervingly calm.

"Then how did you get here?" She paused for a moment, then decided to ask the question that had been pestering her. "And how did you know when you were?"

"Like I said, I don't know. It's not like I had a DeLorean and a stretch of road." Mina raised an eyebrow at this, but didn't comment. "As for how I knew when I was…I'd rather not say." When Mina raised an eyebrow again, the man quickly followed up with "Fine," he relented, not wanting to get on her bad side, "There were stories, media, games, all sorts of stuff about the 41st millennium. Never figured it would all be true." The Commissar raised an eyebrow. From her general expression, this was a load of Grox dung.

"Well, I'm no mind reader," she said, walking around behind Michael's chair, "so we'll have one of our Psykers rummage around in that scruffy little head of yours, and we'll have some...tests run on you."

"Oh, joy," groaned Michael. "I take it that it'll all hurt like hell?" He sighed and let his forehead fall to the tabletop. The whole situation was getting better and better. He was really hoping on waking up soon.

The door to the room opened, and a grizzled man poked his head in. The Commissar turned her attention from Michael to the man. They exchanged words, and Mina's face turned grim. She then turned to the young man as the door closed. "Well, looks like your in luck." There was a heavy tone of sarcasm in her voice, and Michael could only mutter a muffled "Oh?". "It would seem that we are being attacked. Since we are short on soldiers, I am drafting you here and now. You will be attached to...Sergeant Harris' squad. You will serve until the battle is over, or until you die, whichever comes first. After, you will be tested. Extensively." Her eyes narrowed at the young man. "You disobey one order, ONE order, and I will have you killed on the spot, do I make my self clear?"

"Yes ma'am," said Michael as he raised his head from the table, a tired, almost annoyed look on his face, "Crystal clear."

"Don't you get fresh with me boy," replied the Commissar. She went to untie him, when there came a rap on the door. She paused, walked over, and opened the door again. There was more muffled conversing, and someone new walked into the room. There was something different about this person. Their very presence made Michael's ears ring like they did around some electronics. Almost immediately, he could feel something scratching at his mind.

"Well, it seems like you're in luck boy," commented the Commissar as she walked back around to the opposite side of the table. "This is Julian. He'll be your Psyker today." She leaned over the table and grinned at Michael. "Try not to scream too much."

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" asked Michael, gritting his teeth, anticipating the pain to come.

"Just a bit, yes." replied the Commissar.

A moment later, Michael's whole world devolved to swirling colors and stabbing pain.

* * *

"Well Commissar, I've finished scouring the boy's mind..." said Julian after he had finished.

"And?" Asked the Commissar, an eyebrow raised.

"Well, aside his mind being more disorganized than and Ork's workshop, he's telling the truth. More or less."

"More or less?" asked Mina, crossing her arms with a 'we are not amused' expression.

"There were some...errors here and there in his knowledge of, well, now. Also, it would seem that he's had combat experience, but at the same time, he's more green than a new recruit."

"...Simulations?" offered the Commissar.

"I don't know, but he's in as good a shape as most of the other guardsmen, and I don't see there being any reason for him not to serve. He's got enough sense to know how to work a lasgun at least." The Psyker gave a dismissive shrug.

The Commissar looked down at Michael, who's head was resting on the table with a trail of drool leading from his mouth. His jaw was locked and his eyes were wide from the pain of having his mind tinkered with. She was surprised he had done as well as he had. Usually, at least in her experience, the person wet themselves after having their mind sifted through. "Ok boy," she said, untying his hands, "Get up and get your ass to the armory. Get kitted out and meet up with the Sergeant."

It took a moment for Michael to regain the use of his limbs, and a moment more for his jaw to unlock. His mind felt numb, like he had ben pulling a 72-hour work period and was just coming off a caffeine rush. There was a lingering pain from the Psyker's work, but nothing he had not dealt with before pain-wise. He slowly got to his feet, his arms limp at his sides. He blinked several times, trying to get his blurry vision to focus, then remembered he didn't have his glasses. "Oh, right," he muttered to himself. He shuffled to the door as if in a daze, opened the door, and made to leave before stopping and urning to the Commissar. "Um, armory, where with the...thing?" he asked?

The Commissar sighed irritably. "Take a left and follow the signs."

"Ah, right," he replied a bit more coherently ad his mind started to piece itself back together. And with that, he left the room, making his way down the now deserted corridor towards the armory.


	2. The right tools for the right job

**Chapter 2: The right tools for the right job**

Michael's head was pounding like a drum set at a rock concert. He silently cursed the Psyker for rooting around in his brain. It had hurt like hell, and he was only just now remembering how to walk properly. "God, I hope I wake up from this damn dream soon..." As he followed the large signs of "Armory" that were spray painted onto the rockcrete walls, he made a mental note not to take any more Adderall so soon before bed. Amphetamine fueled dreams were always trippy as hell, and this one was no exception.

Upon entering the armory, it appeared that nobody was in. Taking a quick look around, it seemed that the "armory" was little more than a small waiting room with a counter, a door leading to the room behind the counter, and behind that stretched various racks of Guard equipment. The gear ranged from lasweapons, flak jackets, a few autoguns, various specialist weapons, ammo, parts, and various other essential items.

"Um, hello?" called Michael carefully as he slowly made his way towards the counter, rubbing his forehead as another spike of pain ran through his brain. Probably an aftershock or something from the Psyker, or a subconcious message that when he woke up, he'd need to get some water or something.

"Hello?" he asked, placing his hands on the counter and peering into the armory. "Anyone here? I, um, I need my gear. Just, uh, just got drafted…"

The man jumped as a a person wearing a rust red robe seemed to appear out of nowhere from behind the desk. It was almost as if they had sprung up out of the ground. Upon closer inspection, the person seemed to have various mechanical parts poking out of their robe. When they lifted what appeared to be a ledger up, it looked like the ledger was fused to their hand via various electronics. On the very top portion of the robe was a red and steel grey cogwheel with a half machine skull.

A member of the Adeptus Mechanicus.

"Name?" asked the mechanical priest in a voice that sounded like steel being clanged together.

"Um, Michael."

The priest examined the ledger for a few seconds, then shook his head under the hood. "You are not on the list."

"Yeeeeeah, like I said, I was just drafted. Like, not more than five minutes ago. By Commissar Fargas. Call'er up. Ask her yourself."

The priest paused for a moment, considering this. He motioned off to the side, and a servitor shuffled over. Michael tried to suppress a shiver of disgust at the brain dead human/machine combination. The priest spoke a few words, and the servitor shuffled off and into a back room. "Please wait a moment, I will contact the Commissar." And with that, the Priest moved off to the back room where the servitor had gone. Apparently, there was a vox set back there, as Michael could hear the faint sound of static.

So, with nothing better to do, Michael hopped up and sat on the counter, legs swinging back and forth and looking around nervously. However, he wasn't sitting for very long when a Guardsman ran up. The Guardsman wasn't wearing a helmet, and appeared to be just slightly older than Michael, so around the mid to late 20's. His hair was blonde and cropped, and his nose appeared to have been broken several times. His flak armor was decked out in urban colors and scratched around the joints, a testimate to the wear and tear the armor went through.

"You Michael?" he asked, slightly out of breath. The man's accent was, at best, southern. Or at least what sounded like a southern accent.

"Um, yes sir," said the younger man, hopping off the counter and standing at what could be considered an attention stance. His equilibrium had returned, so standing straight wasn't as much of a problem now.

"Good. I was told by tha Commissar ta give ya these." The guardsman extended a hand, in which rested a pair of rectangle frame glasses.

Taking the glasses, Michael put them on, blinking a few times to get his eyes to focus properly after having not worn them for so long. "Thanks," he said.

"No problem," said the older man. "Well, I should probably tell ya, name's Danthol Harris, and as of now, I'm yer commanding officer. You've been assigned ta my squad."

"Oh, um, ok, sir." said Michael, a tad nervously. The younger man jumped when Dan clapped him on the back. "Boy, jus' call me Dan. Everybody does. I ain't like tha Commissar, I ain't gonna blow yer brains out." The man had a wide, friendly grin on his face, and Michael couldn't help but smile back. "Now, let's get'cha kitted out." Walking over to the counter, Dan gave the wooden surface a quick rap with his knuckles. "Yo! Benny!" he called towards the back room. "We gots us ah soldier in need ah' some gear! Get your oily mech ass out here pronto!"

"Uh, Benny?" asked Michael with a chuckle as the Techpriest came out from the back room with the vox set.

"Nickname we got fer the Cogboy. Real name's Benjamin, an' we know it drives him crazy when we call'em Benny."

"What is it Danthol? I'm very bus-" Benjamin cut off when he saw that Danthol was referring to Michael as the solder in need of gear. "Oh. Him. Well I just got a very…colorful confirmation from Commissar Fargas. Mr…Michael, has been cleared to receive his gear." The Techpriest pressed a button on the wall next to the counter, causing the door to open. The way the Tech Priest spoke gave the impression of an implied eye roll. It was pretty clear that he did not enjoy his job at all.

Looking to Danthol, Michael made his way into the back and examined the gear. "So, what am I going to be needing? Armor, a weapon, ammo, and what else?" He was already picking out a fitting flak vest and fatigues as Dan began to answer. "Well, yer gonna be needin' a pack ta' carry all that stuff. Those little belt bags'll work nicely for now. And yer gonna need ah helmet. Last thing ya need is yer brains splattered splattered all over tha' building'. Other than that, ya don't really need much right now. We're just playin' defense right now."

Michael had moved onto the weapons after changing out of his clothes and into the combat fatigues and flak armor. He looked unimpressed as he looked over the lasguns. "Do I really need one of these….flashlights?" he asked Dan, who chuckled. "Standard issue for ah Guardsman, son." Looking down the row of weapons, Michael's eyes landed on a roughly boxy looking weapon. "Hello," he muttered picking it up. The gun felt heavy in his hands, and cold to the touch. It looked like a souped up version of a machine gun to him.

"Naw, ya don't one of those." said Dan walking over. "Lasgun's much more reliable. Ammo's lighter to boot."

"Autogun, right?" asked Michael looking the weapon over. He didn't need to see Dan's nod to know he was right. An autogun was essentially a souped up machine gun. The mechanics seemed to have changed very little from back in the 21st Centruy, which was a good thing for Michael. "I'll take it. Figure a little extra weight's acceptable when it means the enemy'll bleed out in the dirt." He was expecting Dan to say something, but the older man simply shrugged. "Fine by me. You're the one that's gotta lug it around." With a muttered "yeah, I know", Michael grabbed himself a few sickle shaped clips and a drum or two of ammunition. The weight was a bit much, but with a little organization, he could distribute the weight pretty effectively.

After he had gathered all his essential equipment, Michael stepped out of the armory, still fidgeting with his various straps, doing his best to make sure the weight was even. "So," he said as Dan stepped out of the armory after him. "What now?"

"Now? Now we get'cha ta the front lines ta' get ta' killing. Assuming ya survive, you'll get the Guard issued buzz-cut when you get back."

"Oh. Ok. Um, this is probably a stupid question, but who are we fighting again?"

"Boy, you been living under ah rock? We're fightin' heretics!"

"Oh, is that all?" With a shrug Michael trotted off in the direction he had seen all the other guardsmen headed when he was looking for the armory. This dream was getting better and better.


	3. Suicide Mission

**Chapter 3: Suicide Mission**

The hallways were mostly empty now, the soldiers already outside fighting. A few people ran about, more than likely on communications detail or some non-combat role. Danthol and Michael hurried towards the nearest entrance to what Dan called "the trenches". They didn't quite run, nor did they walk. It was more a hurried jog if anything, which caused the rubber soles of their boots to create a strangely loud "thock" noise. Michael was already regretting choosing the autogun over the "flashlight", as the weight of the ammo alone was starting to wear him down. But of course, it was too late to go back now.

"So," said Michael, a little out of breath already, "What's the situation like?"

"Oh, you'll see soon enough boy," replied Dan with only a hint of mirth in his voice. That sort of reply was hardly ever good, and a chill ran up the younger man's spine. "By the by, you ever have any combat experience?"

Michael thought for a moment. "Simulations mostly. Played a few war-games with my brother. I wasn't very good at them. Have some basic firearm knowledge though." Of course, by 'simulations', he meant video games, and by 'war games' he meant a few stints of playing paintball. His 'basic knowledge' came from a mixture of being in the Boy Scouts and handling shotguns and .22 rifles, and watching war movies.

"Well, you better get real good, real quick," replied Dan.

As they neared the end of the hallway, the sounds of battle grew louder and louder. The noise however was muffled by a large blast door, to which Dan opened with a quick button presses. Upon the large door opening, the two were greeted by an almost deafening din of battle. The "krack" of the guardsmen's lasguns were only drowned out by what Michael could only assume were Basilisk emplacements. There were other noises as well. The "choom-choom-choom" of an Autocannon somewhere down the line, the occasional "Ka-koom-ka-koom" of a Heavy Bolter emplacement, and a whining "crack" of the occasional Lascannon battery.

The trenches themselves were, surprisingly, a lot better looking than Michael had first thought. Instead of messy, muddy trenches like one might have found in WW1, these trenches seemed to have been built out of rockcrete and were, for the most part, well maintained. The exception of course was for the occasional overspill of mud, the gouges carved out by enemy munitions, and, naturally, the dead bodies. Looking up and back, Michael saw the base he had just walked out of. Had bullets and las rounds not been whizzing by his head, he would have stared in awe. The base itself was tall enough to be considered a small skyscraper, and looked more like a cathedral made of white-grey concrete. The entire complex was pockmarked with scorch marks and, in places, actual holes from more explosive and heavy munitions.

Turning back towards the battle, Michael noticed two things. First was the environment in which they were fighting. The young man grumbled and scowled at the sight of a bombed out cityscape that spread out in front of him, at least until the smoke and dust obscured his vision. City fighting was always a messy business.

The second thing he noticed was the enemy. Thankfully, there were no Traitor Marines in sight. There were, however, plenty of traitors and heretics, most taking cover behind the rubble and downed buildings. Most wore ramshackle armor, seemingly made from equal parts scavenged pieces of guardsman flak armor and scrap metal. They also wore the Star of Chaos on their armor, and sometimes tattooed or branded onto their skin. Surprisingly, this didn't really have an effect on Michael. He had expected a headache, nausea or something, but he felt no ill symptoms other than the usual fear and uneasiness at getting shot at. He was about to ponder why this was (Perhaps it was because he had not grown up in the 41st Millennium or something), when Dan shoved him to the ground.

"GIT DOWN YA FOOL!" barked the blond haired man as he took cover behind the trench, pulling Michael down with him. "What in tha Emperor's name were ya just standin' around for? You wanna get shot?"

"Oh, uh, sorry," replied Michael, slightly embarrassed at being yelled at, "I got distracted."

"Yeah? Well that'll get ya killed out here."

"Sorry. So, are we just repelling these guys, or what?"

"Pretty much." Dan popped up and fired off a few shots, the dropped back down as several replies whizzed back over his head. "We can't really do much with them pinning us down like this."

"Well," said Michael, leaning up and glancing over, "We could always flank them."

"Well, that'd be suicide." replied Dan, pulling the younger man back down so he didn't get shot.

"Well so's staying here getting shot at. I'm not much for getting myself killed, but I'd rather try to do something rather than waiting for some wayward shell to blow me to bits." Truthfully, he just wanted out of the trenches, as the constant lasrounds and autogun fire whizzing over his head was starting to give him a panic attack.

"Well newbie, what'id ya have in mind?" asked Dan, somewhat skeptical.

"Well," said Michael pointing down the trenches, away from the main line, "There's some close buildings over that way by the looks of it, where they collapsed. We go all sneaky like through there, pop up behind those emplacements they have up in the buildings, and jack'em up. Maybe turn their own guns on them or something."

Dan stared at Michael for what seemed like an eternity. "You're insane." he replied flatly.

"Just a little, but it helps. You coming?" As he finished the question, a line of Heavy Bolter fire slammed into the wall behind them, showering them in a fairly light dusting of debris.

"Fine," grumbled Dan, "But let me round up a few guys. We're gonna need help if we're actually gonna do this." He scooted off down the trench, and Michael was pretty sure he heard the older man mutter something about getting themselves killed.

* * *

Minutes later, Dan returned, hunched over and leading three more guardsmen. He wasn't really feeling too good about this, but as Michael has said, it was better than dying in a trench to a stray shell. The three he had with him were Eva McKellon, Jacob Bores, and Renald Pater. They just happened to be the three he first came upon one his way down the trench, and he didn't feel like going further to pick up more for a suicide mission.

"'Oo the 'ell is this Sarge?" asked Eva, a tall young lady sporting dreadlocks tied back in a ponytail and tribal tattoos along her face and arms.

"This," said Dan, jerking a thumb at Michael, "Is the kid that came up with this batshit crazy idea."

"So, why are we doing this again?" asked Renald, a short soldier that could barely be called a man. He was obviously younger than Michael, but he had that look like he's had ten times more experience. He ran a shaking hand through his short red hair.

"Well," said Jacob in a deep tone, "It's more productive than sitting here waiting to die." The big man glanced over at Michael, who nodded. Jacob grinned and patted Renald on the back with a flame scarred left arm. "Don't worry Ren, it'll be all right."

"Like hell it will be!" retorted Renald.

"Everyone shut up!" barked Dan. With that, everyone quieted down. "The basic plan is ta go through these buildings," he motioned to the ruined buildings which made the outside of the plaza in which most of the fighting was taking place, "do our best ta not get killed, an' try and take out those emplacements." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the muzzle flashes coming from one of the upper floors of what was once a hotel. "That clear?"

"Yes sir." came the reply from the four other squad members.

"Right." Looking up over the trench once more and making sure that there was no attention towards where they were, Dan jerked his head towards the nearest downed building. It was only a few yards from the trench, and thankfully covered by enough debris to conceal them for long enough to sneak into the ruined buildings.

"Let's go." Dan jumped up over the trench and ran in a crouch, making his way towards the cover of the debris. He hoped and prayed that this wouldn't end up getting them all killed.


	4. First Blood

**Chapter 4: First Blood**

Even inside the ruined hab block, the sounds of the battle was almost deafening. The bombed out building occasionally shook from artillery shells hitting elsewhere in the city. With each shake, a small cloud of dust and a handful of rubble fell from the cracked ceiling. It was amazing that the building Sergeant Harris' squad was sneaking through was even standing, considering the amount of munitions that was being leveled in its direction. The squad moved quietly though the ruined hallways and apartments, dashing past the blown out areas, praying that the enemy outside didn't spot them.

Each of the five was utterly amazed that even though they had managed to maneuver right up to the enemy's battle line, they had not encountered a single traitor soldier.

"This is weird," muttered Michael, clutching his autogun tightly.

"'Cause a' the no enemies? Aye, I know what'cha mean…" replied Eva as she finished clearing an empty room.

"Well," added Renald in a quiet voice, "we know they're defiantly upstairs." As he said this, the sound of boots could be heard right above their head.

At the sound, the squad halted and, as one, slowly turned their heads to the ceiling. "Right, well, let's git this done." It was Dan that spoke this time. The squad nodded and continued onwards. A flight of stairs greeted them at the end of the hallway. Eva took point, aiming down her lasgun, taking each step slowly, negotiating carefully around the loose debris. Jacob followed next, then Michael, and Renald and Dan covered the rear.

The second floor was more intact than the first floor, though there were still holes in the wall and a few in the floor. Under the cacophony of the battle raging outside were voices and the sound of heavy weapons. Eva motioned Michael and Renald forward, both who stalked up the stairs and covered the hallway. Slowly, the entire squad made their way into the hallway. Each one of them was on edge. Now they were officially in enemy territory. Ahead, the hallway was mostly empty. Standing in front of a doorway with their back to the squad were three traitors in shoddy, dirty and partially broken PDF armor and gear. The noise of the heavy weapons seemed to drown out any other sound.

Michael, Eva and Renald glanced at the Sergeant, their weapons trained on the three traitors. Dan nodded, and the three soldiers squeezed the triggers. Two "Crack!"s and a "Bang!", and the traitors crumpled to the floor, a round through each of their heads. The squad tensed, and Jacob trained his grenade launcher down the hallway, ready for a response from any heretics that had heard the shots. A slow, tense five seconds passed. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. And nobody came to check out the bodies. Renald secretly thanked those heavy weapons a few rooms down, as the sheer noise had masked their shots.

Eva, Renald and Michael stalked down the hallway, covering each other and clearing the empty rooms on the way. Jacob followed behind, cradling his grenade launcher. The three soldiers stopped in front of a closed door, their guns trained on it. From the sheer noise coming from the room, the heavy weapons were behind there. Eva motioned Jacob over, who positioned himself in front of the closed, wooden door.

Holding the grenade launcher at is waist, he swing it back, then rammed the barrel through the door and pulled the trigger. There was a soft, muffled "Choomp". Jacob immediately withdrew the grenade launcher and swiveled away from the door just as the grenade went off. The explosion blew the door off its hinges, and after the ringing of the blast stopped, the noise of the heavy weapon was no more. Michael was first into the room, autogun trained on the downed shapes. To ensure that neither would get up again, he squeezed the trigger twice, putting a round in each of the heretic's head.

Now that the room was cleared, they took a moment to observe the battle that still raged outside. The heretics were now firmly dug in and everything had devolved to more or less trench warfare and a battle of attrition. The only thing that might even the odds a bit was, maybe, a foolhardy squad that had snuck behind enemy lines and more or less commandeered an enemy heavy weapons emplacement.

And that just happened to be the case.

"Eva, Michael, you take the gun", ordered Dan, pointing at the still intact heavy weapon, which had turned out to be a now slightly beat up Heavy Bolter. Eva got to the gun first and hunkered down.

"Michael, load me." she said, already adjusting the sights on the heavy caliber cannon.

Giving a grunt, Michael hunkered down next to his squad mate and began managing the belts of ammunition. He had really wanted to be the one to handle the gun, but Eva DID have seniority on him, so he figured it would be best to not argue.

"Ready," he said after getting the chains of ammunition in order. Without a confirmation, Eva opened fire on the backs of the traitor soldiers. The noise was deafening, and Michael winced at the "Choom choom choom" that was hitting his ears worse than a heavy metal concert. He glanced over at Eva, who didn't seem affected by the noise and in fact had a bit of a smile on her face. Looking back down at the traitors and heretics that she was opening fire on, Michael could see that the rain of micro rockets from the Bolter emplacement was throwing the dug in troops into a state of chaos. The young man chuckled to himself as he watched the heretics getting blown to bits, imagining what the Imperial officers were thinking when they saw the scene.

* * *

"Wait wait wait," said Commissar Fargas to a mid ranked officer, "What's happening again?"

"Madam Commissar," said the man, who was splattered with mud and blood, "It would seem like the heretics are firing on their own forces."

Mina thought about this for a moment, even turning her back on the officer to hide her surprised expression. It wasn't a secret that the forces of Chaos tended to clash on occasion, but something like this? She turned back to the man, who was still standing at attention.

"Come with me." She stepped past him, grabbing a pair of binoculars as she stepped out of the command bunker, officer in tow. From where she stood, she could see the whole battlefield, or at least the section they were defending. "Ok, where is this…disturbance?"

"Over there ma'am," said the officer, pointing to what was once a hotel.

Looking through the binoculars, Mina scanned the facade of the hotel, trying to pinpoint where the gunner's nest was. And then she spotted the muzzle flashes of the Heavy Bolter.

"What in the...?" she muttered as she saw the two Guards who were manning the gun. It was Private McKellon and the new guy, the supposed "time traveler". Seeing Eva commandeering an enemy emplacement and using it on the enemy didn't really surprise her. What did surprise her however was that Michael was assisting. What was even more surprising was that he was still alive. She figured he would have been executed already for cowardice or picked off by the enemy by now.

"Get me a vox to Sergeant Harris' squad."

* * *

Naturally, things had been going well in the first few moments of using and abusing the enemy's emplacement. However, all good things come to an end. After a few seconds of getting torn to ribbons, the remainder of the traitor forces realized "Hey, they jacked our gun. We should probably kill them". Lasgun fire lanced up towards the opening from which the Heavy Bolter sat. The angles were all wrong, and Eva and Michael were far enough back that they didn't run the risk of actually getting shot. It was however greatly distracting, what with Michael hunkering down as close to the floor as he could.

"What. The. Hell. Are you. Doing?" asked Eva between shots.

Michael, continuing to feed the cannon, glanced over at the dreadlocked woman. "Well," he said, pushing his glasses back up into place, "I really, REALLY don't like getting shot at, hence the ducking."

Michael could swear he heard a muttered "Pussy..." through the "Choom choom choom"ing of the Heavy Bolter, but paid it no mind. An pussy he may be, but he'd do his best not to get killed by doing stupid stuff.

"Ye-. No ma'am. Yes ma'am. Well, we..."

Michael glanced back in the hallway and could just barely see Sergeant Dan on what he could only assume was a handheld vox set.

"Well to be honest ma'am, it was the new guy's idea." This didn't help at all, as the response was accompanied by a stream of swears and excessive yelling.

"Well ma'am, we're kinda stuck here. So we'll turn these guys back, and assumin' we're still alive, would you mind beratin' us then?" Dan didn't manage to hear the answer however. He was distracted by the frantic tapping on his shoulder by Renald.

"What's up Ren?" he asked, covering the receiving end of the radio.

With wild, frantic eyes, Renald pointed down the hall, away from where they had come. "Can't you hear it?" he asked, an obvious tone of fear in his voice. Dan paused and listened.

Toom. Toom. Toom.

It was the sound of footsteps. HEAVY footsteps. That was never good.

Up from the stairway, walking slowly and deliberately, was a 8-foot tall, armor clad monstrosity. The crimson maroon armor was adorned with blasphemous symbols and trophies from slain enemies. The beast wore no helmet, which showed off its leering, fanged face, complete with slitted blake eyes. A pair of small horns poked out of his forehead, completing the demonic look. The shoulder pad was emblazoned with a snarling demonic face in front of an eight pointed star.

A Words Bearers Chaos Space Marine.

"Oh fucking fuck," muttered Dan, diving back into the room, followed immediately by Jacob and Renald. Eva jerked her head up from her gun and fixed Dan with an almost worried look. "What's up chief?"

"We've got company..." Toom. Toom. Toom.


	5. The Bigger They Are

**Chapter 5: The Bigger They Are**

Toom. Toom. Toom.

The sound of the traitor Marine's footsteps grew louder and louder. So heavy was the marine that with each step, the floor shook a little. This was a good 8 feet tall, heavily armored, heavily armed, and heavily muscled super soldier infused with the dark blessings of the Chaos Gods that was striding slowly down the hallway.

Naturally, Renald was almost shitting himself in fear.

Jacob and Eva held the youngest squad member back, their hands firmly clasped around his mouth to keep him from screaming in terror. Dan and Michael were hunkered down off to the side, their rifles trained on the doorway. A lasgun and an autogun might not do much against a Marine, especially a Traitor Marine, but hey, it was better than bending over and taking his size 20 armored boot up the ass. At the least, it would distract him long enough for Jacob, Renald and Eva to get away.

Toom. Toom. Toom.

Sweat was rolling down Michael's forehead. Dan was silently muttering a prayer to the Emperor for protection and luck. Renald was still struggling, and Eva and Jacob were staring at the door so intently that Michael thought it might burst into flames.

Toom. Toom.

All sound seemed to die. The battle outside seemed miles away. The sounds of the Guard's weapons, the sound of explosions and the cries of the wounded and dying. Everything just...faded. The only thing any of the squad could hear was the thunderous pounding of their own hearts, and the unrelenting, unstoppable footsteps out in the hallway.

Toom.

The footsteps stopped. Everyone tensed.

And then a massive fist came through the wall, sending wood and plaster flying. Jacob's hand slipped, and Renald managed to get out a panicked scream. Michael and Dan brought their rifles up and tried to get a bead on the crimson armored giant that was pushing his way through the wall with the ease that one might tear a piece of tissue paper. Neither fired though. They were to scared.

"Well well well, what have we here?" wondered the giant aloud, his voice deep and full of menace. "Five little guardsmen, stranded behind enemy lines. Whatever will happen?" The beast chuckled and fixed his black slitted eyes on each squad member, thoughts of what sort of torture he should enact on each of them bubbling in his head.

"Oh Emperor save me..." muttered Dan and Renald. Eva and Jacob stayed quiet, such was the fear that had gripped them. Michael barely managed an audible "Oh Jesus Christ..."

"Your pathetic corpse God can't help-" The Word Bearer stopped, then looked over at Michael, a mixture of surprise, confusion, and anger on his demonic looking face. "What?" Taking two steps towards the young man and covering a good 10 feet in doing so, the Traitor looked down.

"Stand." Commanded the Traitor.

Michael, still clutching his autogun, stood up and stared the giant in the face. His hands were shaking, and he was trying to mentally assure himself that he'd come out of this ordeal alive.

"What was it that you said? TELL ME!" The Traitor placed a gauntleted hand on the young man's shoulder, a hand large enough to envelop his entire head if the traitor so chose. Michael's jaw shook as he tried to form words. He was speechless, but his mind was running rampant. As he tried to form a word, any word, the giant began to slowly, deliberately squeeze. It quickly occurred to Michael that he might not make it out of this alive. He was going to die first, then the rest of his squad, who were too stunned and frightened to do anything but watch.

And then something came to Michael. If he was going to die, he might as well start praying. He had never been a religious person, but you know what they say, there are no Atheists in foxholes.

So, with no other option, the young man began muttering a prayer. "Our Father, who art in Heaven..."

Apparently this enraged the Traitor Marine, who lifted the young man up by the shoulder until they were looking eye to eye. Michael's left arm lay useless from the Marine gripping his shoulder, but his right still held his autorifle.

"WHO ARE YOU?" Bellowed the Marine. The words that the young man had said had hit him like a sledgehammer. They were surprisingly powerful, more powerful than the prayers and the blessings the Word Bearer chapter offered up to their Dark Gods. The monster was snarling and glaring at the young man. He'd pull the answers from this weak little thing, be it here or at the hands of the heretics and traitors he was tasked to command.

Michael was wincing in pain, but managed a glare. And then the marine squeezed harder, and something gave way. There was an audible cracking noise, and pain shot up his left arm and shoulder. Michael screamed in pain. His arm felt like it was on fire. He couldn't move his fingers, so it was obvious that SOMETHING had broken. The Marine grinned. "Tell me what I want to know, and I'll kill you quickly. Who. Are. You?"

Eva, who had just recently gotten a rein on her fear, was about to make a dive for the Heavy Bolter. But then Michael did something unexpected. The young man was still screaming and yelling while in the superhuman grip of the Marine, but the tone and pitch had changed. It wasn't a scream of pain any more, but a roar of anger that would have set an Ork shaking in his boots.

"Fuck," he growled, lifting the heavy rifle with his right arm and resting the barrel on the collar of the Marine's chest armor, "You!"

Pulling the trigger, Michael unloaded his entire clip into the Traitor Marine's head. The Marine spasmed, and dropped the young man, who fell to the ground. Dan moved quickly and grabbed Michael by his unbroken arm and pulled him out of the way of the Marine. Amazingly, or not, depending, the Traitor Marine was still standing. He was clutching his face, which looked like it had passed through a food processor.

"Dan, reload me." Michael was about to pass the rifle over to Dan, when the Marine's chest exploded outward in a shower of black blood, armor and flesh. Michael and Dan sat there in shock for a moment before wiping themselves off. The giant fell over, and standing behind the corpse was Eva and Jacob, setting down the Heavy Bolter they had just finished firing.

"Well," said Michael, gritting his teeth through the almost blinding pain, "that was interesting." Everyone else simply nodded, their eyes not leaving the slowly cooling corpse. "Ah think we should git back now," suggested Dan, and again, everyone nodded.

* * *

"What. In. The. HELL?" bellowed Commissar Fargas at the recently returned squad. Eva and Jacob were bandaged here and there for various cuts and scrapes they received during the action, and Michael's left arm and shoulder was bound and secured. The bone had been set, and all that was needed now was for the bone to heal.

"Well ma'am," began Sergeant Harris, "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"We didn't feel like dying in the trenches," added Michael, "So we tried to do something...useful." Renald and Jacob nodded in agreement, and Eva gave a halfhearted shrug and glanced away.

Mina pointed a gloved finger at Michael, her tone very serious. "You're already on my shit list Michael. Don't push it. Your duty is to serve the Emperor, and if that means dying in the trenches, then so be it."

"That doesn't seem very productive," suggested Michael. Oh, he was having fun pushing the Commissar's buttons. "Besides, if it wasn't for us pulling such a crazy stunt-"

"We wouldn' have pushed the enemy back past the square." interrupted the Sergeant. "As crazy an' foolhardy as it was, it was a good thing for us to do. It worked, an' we only got a few scrapes an' a broken arm."

The commissar stared at the squad, a hint of anger flaring behind her eyes. "Fine," she said turning their back on them, her face slowly turning a light shade of red, "But next time, tell your superiors. I'd hate to have to execute you five for desertion. Dismissed. Get back to the barracks."

"Thank you ma'am," replied Dan who saluted, turned, and walked out of Commissar Fargas' rather spartan office.

"And Michael," added the Commissar, her back still turned, "The Inquisitor will be here in a day. I hope you're ready." There was a mutter from the young man, and the door closed.

* * *

"What's she mean by tha' Inquisitor's gonna be here?" asked Eva. She walked next to Michael and Jacob as they made their way back to the barracks, with Dan leading the pack and Renald trailing shortly behind.

"Um...well," began Michael, unsure how to begin. "How about I tell you guys when we get to the barracks? I really don't feel like telling the story more than once..."

As he walked, he couldn't help but notice his hands were shaking. In the back of his mind, he could feel a panic attack of some sort getting ready to spring on him. The adrenaline was already leaving his system, and the full brunt of what had transpired was beginning to hit him. He mentally sang to himself (his song of choice was the old Scooby Doo theme), trying to calm his nerves. That seemed to do the trick for now, but he'd sooner or later snap and have to deal with things properly.

* * *

Overhead the Imperial base, a small craft descended. It had the double eagle stamped on the side, with a large, stylized I in the center.

The Inquisition was here.


	6. Story Time for the Troops

**Chapter 6: Story Time for the Troops**

The barracks was packed when the group of five arrived. A few of the soldiers greeted the squad, but most were busy going on about their own business. It wasn't until someone called out that the rest of the barracks took notice.

"Hey! It's the guys that jacked the gun!"

Suddenly the group of five was surrounded by soldiers congratulating them, thanking them, and questioning them. Everything was going well for Michael, up until someone asked "Who's the new guy?" At that point, all the attention went to the young man.

"Aww shit," he muttered as he was swarmed by men and women throwing questions at him.

This went on for a few seconds, and then a booming voice rang out over the din. "Everybody shut up!" The noise quieted down almost instantly. The crowd parted, and standing at the end of the part was a large, imposing man. His hair was short and dark, his body well muscled, and his face looked like it had seen far better days. His left eye had been replaced with a cybernetic implant, and a ragged scar ran around the rim where it had been put in.

"Oh, Major," said Dan, snapping to attention. Glancing over at Michael, he gave the young man a nudge, and Michael followed suit and snapped to attention.

"I am Major Wilhelm, and I want to know what in the Hell you're doing in my barracks." As he spoke, he walked towards Michael, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Sir, I was drafted right before the last battle by Commissar Mi-, er, Commissar Fargas." His tone was polite, and ever so slightly nervous.

"So, Mina drafted you hmm?" The Major pondered this for a moment, then, satisfied with the answer, continued his interrogation. "Where did you come from?"

"Well sir, I was just about to tell my squad that, but if it's all right, might I tell the whole barracks and get it out of the way?"

The Major looked to the Sergeant, who nodded. "It's true sir, he was going to tell us before we were...mobbed."

"Fine," said the Major turning back to the young man.

Satisfied that he wasn't going to be hurt more than he already was, he looked around the crowd of people. "Can anyone spare a chair?" There was a little muttering, and a small metal chair was produced from somewhere. "Alright ya'll" he said loudly enough so that everyone could hear, "Pop a squat, it's story time." Placing the chair down behind him, Michael eased himself down with his good arm as a few Guardsmen began to sit. This was soon followed by more and more until most if not all of the soldiers present were sitting or leaning.

"Ok," began Michael, crossing one leg over the other, "now, this is going to come as a shock to most of you, but I'm not from around here." There were a few sarcastic "Naaw, really?"'s near the back, but Michael paid them no mind. "Anyway, I'm...kinda not supposed to be here." He weighed his next words carefully, then after a pause, continued.

"Truthfully, I'm from Earth in the year 2010."

There was silence. You could have heard a pin drop it was so quiet. And then:

"You liar!"

"He's lying!"

"He's probably a spy!"

Michael quickly put up his right hand to try and calm the crowd. "Woah woah woah, hold on a second. If it helps, I asked an Inquisitor to check me out to verify that I'm telling the truth." The yelling cut off abruptly at the mention of the Inquisition. Michael smiled to himself. He knew how to work this crowd. "Anyway, what happened was this..."

Michael spent the next few minutes retelling what had happened and how he managed to find himself in the 41st Millennium. Once he had finished, he ended with "So, any questions?" Immediately, the room broke into yelling, each person having a question they wanted answered. Michael looked over desperately at the Major. After a moment, the Major bellowed for everyone to shut up, and the room got quiet again.

"Right," said Michael, glancing around the room nervously, "We're gonna do this like school. If you have a question, raise your hand, and I'll call on you."

There were a few grumbles and a couple scowls, but soon, there was a forest of upraised arms. Picking one at random, the soldier put his arm down and spoke up. "How do you know so much about, well, now if you're from 2010?" After he asked this, a good number of hands went down.

"Well, back in my time, there were whole series of books written about this time. Stories about the Tanith First and Only, about the Ultramarines, even a few about Chaos." The last bit brought a good number of boos. "There was also several games surrounding the then-fiction. Strategy games, shooters, all sorts. I was a fan of the genre, and I have this weird brain thing where I can remember most fairly useless information, hence how I know what I know. Alright, next question...you." he pointed at a young lady this time.

"Was the Emperor alive then in 2010?" A few hands dropped.

"Ah, no, not that I was aware of." There was a good number of gasps and a couple angry mumblings. "No, back then, Earth, or Terra I suppose, was dominated by several religions, but The Emperor wasn't part of those as far as I know." Of course, Michael's knowledge on the general lore of the time was incomplete, so he was just going by what he knew.

This time, Michael called on Jacob. "Back in the hotel, you said something when the Traitor Marine came in. Something that got him mad. What did you say?" This produced more murmurs than Michael had anticipated, and he motioned for the crows to quiet down.

"It was a swear of sorts from my time. It has a religious connection as well, but I won't get into that, lest people here become too interested. It was a religion I grew up with, and I suppose I'm a member by association."

"And why did the Marine act like he did?" asked Jacob.

"Well, either it's because he was totally nucking futs," this brought a couple chuckles, "or because...Well, I've been thinking about that since we got back. I read somewhere, I forget where, that said that Gods only die when people forget about them. When they have no worshippers or even people that remember that they exist. Up until yesterday, as far as I know, nobody knew about the God of that old religion. I think, because I said what I did, that it brought Him back into being, simply by my mentioning Him. It's just a theory though." He shrugged. It wasn't the best theory, but it did explain why the Marine acted like he did.

"Sounds like heresy to me!" called someone in the back. This was accompanied by a few agreements.

"Oi!" barked Michael, pointing a finger back in the direction the yelling had come from, "I'm not a heretic. I was never a member of your religion to begin with, so I'd appreciate it if you'd shut the fuck up and let me believe what I want to, and I'll let you believe what you want to. We'll get along all hunky-dory and kill those Chaos worshipping asshats together. You got a problem with that?" There were a few angry cries from the back, but for the most part it was muttered agreement.

"So, any other questions?" he asked, looking around.

"Yes," came a voice from the doorway. Michael looked up and his eyes fell upon a large armored figure that resembled a Space Marine. On the front of his armor was a large stylized I. "I have a question...Michael. Would you come with me?"

There were a few gasps of surprise, and a couple of soldiers scooted away from the Inquisitor. Without a hint of fear or worry, Michael stood up and slipped his working hand into his pocket. "Not a problem sir," he said as he moved through the crowd towards the doorway. The Inquisitor took a step back to allow Michael through, then shut the door. The soldiers stared at the doorway for a couple seconds before the Major boomed out again. "Ok, story time's over kids! Back to what you were doing!" Once again, the barracks was abuzz with activity, but it was as if a cloud of unease had fallen over the troops.

* * *

Michael walked behind the Power Armored form on the Inquisitor, with a pair of Inquisitorial stormtroopers flanking the young man from behind, their Hellguns at the ready.

"Wasn't expecting you until tomorrow," said Michael in a conversational tone. One of the stormtroopers pushed him with the barrel of his Hellgun. "No talking." Michael's response was a silent eye roll and reassuring himself that he was innocent. However, with the Imperial Inquisition, the subject was guilty before being proven innocent.

Boy howdy, this was going to be oh so much fun.


	7. Meeting with the Inquisitor

**Chapter 7: Meeting with the Inquisitor**

Once again, Michael found himself in a dark room, sitting in an uncomfortable metal chair, with some big Imperial muck-a-muck staring at him like he was a dissected alien or something. This time however, his hands were uncuffed and he had two Inquisitorial Stormtroopers with Hellguns standing behind him, ready to blow his brains out at a moment's notice. Sitting opposite of him, wearing steel grey Power Armor that was decorated with Imperial litanies, purity seals and various Inquisitorial markings, was the Inquisitor in question. Next to the hulking figure sat an ever so slightly twitching Psyker, adorned in more purity seals than was practical. To the young man, they seemed to be lampooning the whole Inquisition bit, but their expressions told him that they were deathly serious.

"I would know who, and what you are." said the Inquisitor without preamble. Michael cracked a grin. At least this guy didn't dick around.

"Give me your name horse-master, and I shall give you mine." responded Michael calmly. This produced a not-amused and slightly confused expression from the Inquisitor, but Michael only raised an eyebrow in response to the expression. The young man leaned back in the chair, quite at ease and awaited a verbal response.

After a moment, the Inquisitor relented to the question. "I am Inquisitor Alistair, and I would know who, or what, you are." The Inquisitor looked to be on the verge of reaching across the table and snapping the college student's head off.

"Well now, it's nice to meet you Inquisitor Alistair. People around here call me Michael, and I suppose that should be sufficient. As for who I am, apparently I'm a recent recruit to this Guard...battalion? Whatever, this army, whatever it's called. As for what I am, I'm human." He waved his hands in a very Jedi motion. "Search my brain, you know it to be true."

The Inquisitor was, obviously, not amused, so the young man decided to tone down the silliness. "But yes sir," continued Michael in a very careful, respectful tone, "I've already been checked out by a Psyker, and my story has been verified."

"Yes, I know," replied Alistair, resting his arms on the table and interlacing his gauntleted fingers, "but I prefer to do my own investigation."

"Ah, to see if I'm really telling the truth and not somehow tricking the Psyker in question..."

"Exactly." replied the Inquisitor.

"Well if you do go sifting around in my brain, could you please be gentle? I'd personally not like a repeat of last time."

"We'll see," replied the Inquisitor.

Unlike last time, which was all pain and swirling colors, this psychic probing was actually...gentle. It felt more akin to someone calmly and carefully shuffling through papers, examining each one carefully before setting them aside, as opposed to the previous method which felt like someone ripping out a filing cabinet draw and dumping the contents out.

It didn't take long for the Inquisitor to finish his sifting. "Well I'll be, you are telling the truth." He sat back in his oversized chair, folding his hands in front of him. "Well Michael, I suppose we'll take this delicately."

"Delicately sir?" asked Michael with a worried expression.

"You are indeed not from this time or place. You do have knowledge of how things are done here, but it has not been ingrained into you as it has the rest of humanity. So you will receive a measure of...leniency." The last word seemed forced, and it probably was. Inquisitors, after all, were not known for being lenient. "So, first question, where are you from?"

"Terra sir."

"Profession?"

"Student sir. Entertainment media."

"Which is...?"

"Movies, games, that sort of thing sir."

"I see..." The Inquisitor pondered for a moment. "Well, let's get down to business then. Enough of these simple questions."

* * *

The young man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He really hoped that he'd wake up soon.

Several hours later, the interrogation was drawing to an end.

"One final question," asked the Inquisitor, "That other religion that you mentioned in the barracks, Explain." Behind Michael, the Stormtroopers tightened their grips on their Hellguns.

"Christianity sir. It was a religion long before that of, um...the current one. The name eludes me."

"Continue," ordered the Inquisitor.

"Well sir, in a nutshell, there's God, creator of the Heaven and the Earth, Jesus, his son that died for the sins of all mankind, and...yeah. I honestly never paid much attention in church you see. But it poses no threat to the current religion as far as I can tell. I've no intention of spreading the religion, nor do I intend on pushing it on anyone." As he spoke, he could feel the Inquisitor shifting through his mind. He assumed that he was ferreting out if Michael was telling the truth or not.

After a moment of consideration, the Inquisitor nodded. "Very well, you shall be allowed to go free, but know that the Inquisition shall be keeping a very, VERY close eye on you. We do not trust you."

"I understand sir."

"Good. You may leave."

"Thank you sir," said Michael with a polite nod. He stood up, using his good arm to help himself stand. With another polite nod, he opened the door between the two Stormtroopers and headed for the medical wing to get his arm properly treated.


	8. Threat Assessment

**Chapter 8: Threat Assessment**

"You did WHAT?"

Michael winced as Eva shrieked at him. Any louder or closer to his head and he might bust an ear drum. He had, upon returning to the barracks, relayed what had happened to the rest of his squad. He figured that it was the least that he could do, and that since they were going to be having his back most of the time, that they should be filled in on what was going on.

"Jesus Eva," he grumbled as he did what he could to stop the ringing in his ears. "Tone it down a notch will ya? I messed around with an Inquisitor. What's the worst he could have done? Shoot me?" He was, of course, referring to the initial banter, not to the whole conversation. He probably would have been face down in a ditch somewhere if he had messed with the Inquisitor for the whole session.

"Ya a daft git!" she barked at the young man. Jacob and Renald were sitting on their bunks, watching the exchange with amused looks. They were more than happy that it was Michael getting yelled at by Eva and not them. "If ya'd been killed, we'd be down one, and we dinnae need that now!"

"Heh, looks like Eva's a little soft on the kid," chuckled Jacob. He received an angry glare from Eva that shut him up almost immediately. "Just saying," he muttered sheepishly.

Eva was, quite honestly, not the strongest person in the squad. This title went to Jacob. Nor was she the best fighter, the sneakiest, or anything like that. She was however, very, very brutal, and her squad mates respected (and feared) her for it. The only one that wasn't scared or intimidated by her was Sergeant Dan, and that was because he was both the squad leader, and that he had the ear of both the Commissar and the Major.

So obviously, when Sergeant Harris walked into the squad's area, Eva backed up from Michael. "What's going on here now? Eva? Care ta' explain?" He raised an eyebrow and looked from the tribal looking woman to the new recruit and back.

"Sir, Michael was telling us about his...talk, with Inquisitor Alistair." Her tone was respectful, and she stood in a stance that was half at attention and half at ease.

"Oh really now?" commented the Sarge, turning his attention to Michael, "And how'd it go? I'd heard that an Inquisitor had popped in, but I didn't figger he'd be here for you."

Before Michael could respond, Renald leaned forward and interjected. "He messed with him sir! Bantered with him like they were ol' chums!" The young soldier laughed, not because it was necessarily funny, but because ever since Michael had arrived (going on almost 12 hours now) he had been slapping chance around and beating the odds.

"Is this true?" asked the Sergeant, turning a stern gaze to Michael.

The young man thought about the question for a moment. "Well, I wouldn't say like old chums, but it was more...casual than I was expecting."

The Sergeant stared at his subordinate for what seemed like an eternity. Nobody moved, nobody spoke. They-Eva, Jacob and Renald-watched, and waited to see how Dan would react. All three instinctively drew back ad Dan stepped forward and looked Michael square in the eyes.

_Oh, he's going to get it_, thought Eva.

Dan clapped a hand on Michael's shoulder and grinned like a fool. "Great job kid," he said with a smile. "The Emperor must love you or something, givin' ya an Inquisitor like that." Off to the side, Eva's jaw had dropped.

"Sir, 'e's reckless! Di we need someone like tha' on our squad?" Her expression was a mixture of anger and worry. "Ah mean, sure, 'e's good with a gun, but we dinnae need someone tha's gonna charge a Baneblade with a trench knife!"

"Hey hey hey," interrupted Michael, "I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid. I'd have some melta bombs with me if I was going to do that." Jacob and Renald chuckled from their bunks and Eva shot them another angry look. "Besides, I'm not suicidal. I very much like living, and I'd like to continue doing so."

"Bu-" began Eva before getting cut off by Dan. "This is ah done issue kids," he said with a wave of his hand. He turned to Michael as Eva plopped down on her bunk, still angry. "So, Michael, I think it's time to fill you in on what's what here." The Sergeant motioned for Michael to sit, and both men took a seat on the available bunks.

"What we have here is ah giant clusterfuck, simple as that." Michael raised an eyebrow at this, but didn't say anything. The Sergeant continued. "We, the Trianguli 105th, are stationed here on Aarseth, which is on the backside ah nowhere."

"Like Tatooine," interrupted Michael with a grin.

"Wha? Whatever. Anyway, back end ah nowhere. Thing is, everyone and their mother wants this planet. We got heretics, an' rumors of daemons poppin' up." This comment resulted in an almost pained groan from Renald. "There's Orks up north, and the Tau 'ave been holding out here in the city, pounding away at both us an' the Chaos troops. And ah course," he said with a sigh, "There's talks about spotting those damned space elves."

"Ah, the Eldar. Raiders?"

"No, tha other kind."

"Oh, that's not so bad." All three squad members looked at him quizzically, and Michael just shrugged.

"So yeah, that's the situation. Everyone wants ta kill everyone, an' we're stuck in tha middle."

"Well, it could be worse," offered Michael.

"Oh? And how's that?" asked Jacob.

"We could have to deal with the Tyranids." This brought groans from the squad. Apparently they had fought against the Hive Fleets before.

Before Michael could comment further, Sergeant Harris stood up and made his way to the divide between the main barracks and the squad's area. "Right then, get some sleep you guys. We have patrol first thing in the morning." There was a general groan from the remaining four squad members. Without another word, the Sergeant stepped out and walked away on some other errand.

It didn't take Michael long to fall asleep. The day had taken quite a bit out of him, what with the interrogations, the battle and everything in between. Hopefully tomorrow would be better.

But in the dark future of the 41st millennium, he doubted he'd have such luck.

* * *

The next day greeted Michael like a woman greets her cheating boyfriend-with a hard slap to the face. At least it felt like that.

"Up and at'em sunshine!" barked Sergeant Dan as he kicked the side of the bunk. "Mmm...I dun wanna go to class today..." muttered Michael as he hugged his pillow with his good arm, his recently fixed one lolling off the side of the bunk and brushing the floor. "I said git up!" Dan kicked the bunk again, and this time Michael moved. "Mmmghbuh...stupid iTunes...where's mah lapto-" He opened his eyes and looked around. "FUCKING FUCK!" Yelled Michael, and in a flash, he had retreated to the far corner of his bunk, hugging his knees to himself. "It wasn't a dream it wasn't a dream oh God I'm awake it was all real oh shit oh shit oh fuck." muttered Michael over an over, his eyes wide with fright.

"The hell's up with him?" asked Renald.

"Dunno," replied Jacob.

Michael heard Dan call for Eva to get something, and the next thing he knew, he has a face full of cold water. "Git ahold a' ya'self!" barked Eva. "Ah little shellshock's good fer ya." Though he was still freaking out, Michael managed to sober up and mellow up enough to get his business into gear and get dressed. He was still shaking and his heart was pounding a mile a minute, but he was getting his stuff done.

"Get kitted out," said Dan, "We leave in 30. Your gun's pretty beat up from yesterday, so head down to the armory and get a replacement."

With a muttered "Ok," the sleepy, still slightly panicking, young soldier trudged off towards the armory in his fatigues.

* * *

Twenty-five minutes later, Michael was all geared up and holding a brand new weapon. He had since come down from his panic attack, though he was more jittery than he was the previous day.

"Why did you opt for an autogun?" asked Jacob as he tinkered with his grenade launcher.

"Bleed out," replied Michael simply.

"Ah, gotcha," said Jacob with a sagely nod.

"Alright guys, listen up," said the Sergeant after everyone had assembled. "We're goin' into Tau territory. So remember tha basics. Stay in cover, move quietly, keep yer ears open, mouths shut, an keep an eye out fer those damned Stealth Suits. If we're lucky, we'll make it back before dinner."

"Hey, Tau," said Renald with a chuckle, "what's the worst that'll happen?"

Michael answered the question with a sharp smack upside the head.

* * *

Author's Notes: Just started a new class at school, so new chapters might be slow in being typed and stuff...But I WILL continue this story. School just comes first.

Also, I'll probably be revising chapters that I post based on critiques, so check back ever so often to see if I've revised something (I revised all eight chapters not too long ago for example).


	9. Guard vs Tau, Round 1

The ruined city was quiet. Not the general type of quiet, but the spooky kind of quiet. The only sound was the occasional crunch of rubble, the wind blowing through the ruins, and, rarely, the scattered sounds of gunfire off in the distance. The squad slowly moved through the streets, guns at the ready. Each of the five kept one eye on the other, and the other eye on their surroundings. Everyone was tense, with maybe the exception of Michael.

Michael was still running a few things through his head, about how this wasn't all some sort of wacky dream and that he really was thrown into a futuristic war zone. He was slowly coming down from the shock however. He had always been a pretty good adapter to life changing events. After the initial shock had worn off, he decided to just accept things as they were and deal with it. After all, there wasn't anything he could do about it, right?

So the squad walked in relative silence through what was considered by command to be relatively "secure" territory. According to Jacob, that meant that there was about a 50% chance they'd run into some Tau.

After a while, Dan motioned for the squad to stop. Almost immediately, the four took up defensive positions while their leader dropped down to one knee and listened. For a moment, all that could be heard was their own breathing. And then suddenly...

Crunch crunch crunch

It was the sound of feet on rubble. Boots maybe, though it could very well be the sound of Tau hooves. The squad readied their rifles and scanned the street that they had found themselves on. Around them were bombed out hab-blocks, the remains of stores, and various other mundane reminders of the human's previous occupation.

Crunch crunch crunch

Everyone continued to scan the ruins. Eva gave her neck a quick pop, and Jacob gripped his grenade launcher tighter. Michael watched the upper ruins and the rooftops, trying to get a direction on the sound of the footsteps. The sound was getting closer, but it was still a ways off, so thankfully they were not going to be pounced upon by a Stealth Suit squad or anything.

"Left," muttered Renald, and everyone glanced over to his left. In that direction was a series of ruined apartments with the walls still standing, but with the floors missing, like a bomb took out the insides, leaving it just a ruined shell.

Just as the squad was readying to adjust their position, lines of blue energy lanced out from the ruins at their position. "Shit!" barked Dan as he ducked behind cover just in the nick of time. In a matter of moments, the hidden Tau had the squad pinned down.

Hunkering down behind a fallen wall, Michael listened to the sounds of the shots. "Pulse," he muttered as he recognized the sound from of of the many Warhammer 40k video games. "Um...Rifles and...Carbines," he said slowly, listening to the rate of fire. "Fire Warrior squad," he called over to the rest, who had taken cover behind the various rubble.

"No shit!" barked Eva as she popped out and sent a few lasbolts at the Tau's position.

"Well at least it's not Stealth Suits," offered Michael as he found a nice firing position and began peppering the general area that the shots were coming from. It slowly occurred to Michael that the Tau that were shooting at them were not as keen on scoring clean kills as they were whittling down the available cover, then popping them when there was nowhere else to hide. Bits of the wall collapsed under the Tau's fire, and it was pretty clear to Michael that he was indeed correct.

"We gotta get out of here!" called Michael to the rest of his squad. They nodded, having come to the same conclusion that Michael had.

"Jake! Got any smoke grenades on you?" asked Dan, and the big man nodded. Jacob quickly loaded a smoke grenade into his launcher and lobbed it up and over into the relatively clear area that stood between them and the Tau. As the smoke was released from the shell, the squad jumped up and made a break for it. Renald and Dan ran to some cover across the street to get a better flanking position. Eva and Jacob ran to a mound of fallen rubble a little further down the street, with Eva providing a hail of covering fire.

Michael however was left on his own. Realizing that he had been left by the rest of his squad, he pulled himself up from cover and booked it to the closest unoccupied cover-a ruined hab-block right behind their position. He ran through the ruins, looking for stairs leading upward as the sound of pulse and las fire echoed up from the street. After some clever jumping on his part, he managed to get onto the second floor and hunkered down behind a blown out window. Aiming down the sights of his Autogun, he could just make out the Tau position through the smoke, but he couldn't get a bead on them. With a growled swear, he got up from his position by the window and looked around for a better firing position.

Next to the hab-block was a relatively untouched multi-level garage, in front of which Eva and Jacob were taking cover. Seeing no better option, Michael found a bridge of rubble connecting the hab-block to the garage and quickly crossed. Someone must have been looking out for him, as the moment he hopped off the bridge, it collapsed behind him. He booked it through the garage, maneuvering around the bullet-ridden and rusted remains of cars and other vehicles. Up two levels, and he ran to the edge again, trying to get a bead on Tau. Again, he was blocked by the ruins in which they hid. Swearing once more, he looked down at how his squad was doing. The whole thing had turned into a stalemate of sorts. Nobody was taking any casualties, and nobody was moving.

"Great, it's like that..." muttered Michael as he looked for a way to get further down the street without being shot to ribbons. Next to the garage was a ruined store who's front was still pretty intact, but the back end was in utter ruins. The roof was just high enough for him to leap onto, but it was still a ways down. "Fuck..." muttered Michael. With nothing better to do, he took a running jump and leapt off the garage, falling a floor down onto the top of the store. He managed to tuck and roll, resulting in only a couple of scrapes as opposed to a shattered shin or something.

Throwing himself flat, he tried to ignore the pain in his knees and elbows as he peeked over the edge of the roof. Again, he couldn't get a bead on the Tau, but he was getting close. The building he was on was the second to the last before an intersection. If he could get back down to the street, he could, in theory, get around to the back of the Tau and fill them full of lead. That was a big "if" however, as from where he was, he couldn't see any way to the street besides a good two or three floor fall. And truthfully, as a new recruit, he didn't really feel like sacrificing the use of his legs to save his squad.

But something seemed to tug at the area of his brain that controlled morality, and he knew he had to do something. Michael crawled over to the edge and peered over and was delighted, almost, to see that that just happened to be some rebar and ruined metal supports that formed out a jumbled, mangled sort of ladder that dropped down a good floor and a half. Rolling his eyes in annoyance, the young man slung his autogun over his shoulder, crawled over the lip, eased himself down, and began a slow descent to a better jumping position.

The climb took longer than he had expected, and by the end of it, his hands were pretty scraped up from using the rebar and rubble as handholds. But the important thing was that, finally, he was on the ground again, and in a position to get behind the Tau position and butcher the xeno with a spray of hot lead death. The intersection was a T-intersection, with the road his squadmates were at forming the upright of the T. Rifle in hand, the young man booked it across the street and made his way carefully down the road until he could see down the road where his squadmates were pinned down. He could just make out the Tau's position in the blown out building across the road. Pulling a grenade from his belt, he inched closer, ready to blow the Xeno apart before mopping them up by himself.

Almost there, almost there, almost-

WHAM

Where the Tau position was, there was now a sleet grey drop pod, glowing slightly red from just coming from orbit. The ramps dropped, and out stepped five grey armored giants, their shoulders emblazoned with black wolf head insignias. Their armor was further decorated with wolf pelts and various tribal paraphernalia. All but one wore a helmet, and by the look of the markings on his armor, he was the one in charge.

The Space Wolves had made their entrance.

While Michael was busy coughing from the impact dust, his squad hurried over to where the Space Marines had just disembarked from. There was a bit of chatter between the squad and the Marines, mostly along the lines of orders and whatnot. Once Michael had finished coughing up a lung, he made his way over, wiping down his glasses on his uniform.

"Mike!" called Renald, who looked happier than a kid at Christmas, "Space Marines!"

"I can see that," said Michael, his tone unimpressed. "Cockblockers is what they are."

This comment got the attention of the Space Wolf squad leader, who turned to face the young man. The Space Wolf leader's head was shaved bald, and his facial hair, which looked very much like a viking's, was a bright orange that reminded Michael of a Dwarf Slayer's in color. "What did'ja say whelp?" asked the Space Wolf.

"Nothing sir," replied Michael with a friendly smile. "Just coughing loudly." He coughed twice for emphasis, noting the Space Marine still eyed him suspiciously. "Thanks for the assist though." The young man moved back to where his squad was, hooking his grenade back onto his belt. Eva was glaring at him in a "Are you serious?" way.

Without another word, the Marines made their way off down the road, their Boltguns at the ready.

"All right," said Dan after the Marines had made their way down the road a ways, "Patrol route leads the other way. Shame we can't have them watch our back." There was a general murmur of agreement.

Before they headed off though, they decided to take a slight break to check ammo and supplies. While Jacob reloaded his grenade launcher and Renald did some field treatments on a graze he got from one of the Tau's pulse rifles, Michael made his way over to where the drop pod had landed. The area was pretty decimated from the drop pod, but not everything was destroyed. On the ground were a few serviceable pulse rifles and a carbine. Slinging his autogun over his arm, Michael picked up the Tau Pulse Carbine and examined it.

"What di'ya think yer doin'?" came Eva's voice from behind him.

"Lootin'." he said simply as he relieved one of the more complete corpses of what he guessed were ammo clips.

"Those're Xeno weapons," she said.

"And?"

"They're XENO weapons." she repeated, this time with more emphasis.

"Yes, and?" Michael fiddled with the buttons, smiling when he found one that ejected the clips in the butt of the carbine. He wouldn't try to find the marker light button or the one that would let him fire those weird Tau grenades, at least not yet.

"They're not...right." said Eva, a hint of worry in her voice.

"Look, gun's a gun," replied Michael as he began looting the rest of the corpses for ammo, "'Sides, Tau have the best guns 'side the Marines. Better than this autogun anyway."

"That's almost heresy," stated Eva, slightly angry.

"That's facts." said Michael, standing up and facing his squadmate. "Ammo weighs less, shots hit harder, and it's got more gizmos on it than a Catachan army knife. 'Sides, it's not gonna turn me nutty or anything."

"Any more nutty you mean."

"Yup."

Eva rolled her eyes and shook her head sending her ponytail of dreadlocks bouncing. "Whatever. The sarge'll have to deal with you." With that, she turned around and walked back over to where the rest of the squad was sitting and resting. Michael followed shortly after, ready to get an earful from Dan about looting xeno corpses.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** So very very VERY sorry for the extreme lack of updates. Life happened. Anyway, I feel this chapter dragged on a little, and would greatly appreciate critiques on how I can make it better.


	10. Guard vs Tau, Round 2

**Chapter 10: Tau vs Guard, Round 2**

Michael had most defiantly received an earful from Dan about looting the xeno carbine, but, after a brief "discussion", the man relented. He did issue an ultimatum though, stating that should Michael turn all crazy and heretic on them that he would personally put a las round through his head. The young man had replied with a simple "Fair enough".

As the squad moved down the street opposite the one that the Space Wolves had gone down, Michael fiddled with the carbine. Xeno tech though it may be, he quickly got it working, much to the well hidden astonishment of his squadmates. It wasn't anything special, mostly a bit of logic and more than a few hours playing Fire Warrior on his old Playstation 2. He didn't mention this to anyone, least of all the Sergeant. They'd have thought he was more crazy than he was already, spouting "nonsense" that he had played a game of the current times over 38 thousand years ago.

The scenery around them was, in a word, drab. It was grays on grays with bits of brown here and there. Throw a little film grain in and it wouldn't look out of place in a World War 2 movie. On the walls, or at least those that were still standing, were markings. Some were old Imperial markings from when the buildings still stood, others were graffiti from soldiers, ranging from prayers to curses to "Jim was here". And still others were xeno markings, though thankfully most of them were Tau. Orks would have been a problem, but Tau...Tau could be reasoned with. And looting their tech didn't usually have the risk of self-injury tagged along side it.

Upon reaching the next street corner, which was marked with a warped and twisted sign post, the squad stopped. Jacob covered the street they were on with his grenade launcher while Renald covered him with his lasgun. Eva was busy looking around, turning her head this way and that as if trying to hear something. Dan and Michael ended up covering the new street that turned off to the right from the street they were on.

They waited, eyes scanning the ruins while Eva did her thing. After a moment, she turned to Dan and nodded. The Sergeant gave a soft "tsst" sound and the squad folded back into formation, making their way quietly down the road again. After some walking, Renald, who seemed to be a little uneasy, spoke up.

"Hey, guys," he began, "Doesn't it seem a little, well...quiet?"

At the question, the squad leader called a halt and stood there, listening, his eyes darting let and right. Michael listened as well, trying to pick out anything at all. Aside from the fighting elsewhere in the city, everything was quiet with the exception of some rubble shifting. Renald was right. They were behind enemy lines, more or less, and they had only run into one squad of Tau. It was quiet. Too damn quiet.

"God damnit," Michael muttered. Looking up towards the roofs and other vantage points, the young man began searching for the one thing he hoped he wouldn't see.

Apparently Eva took notice of this and nudge him. He paid her no mind and continued to search. Was that...no, it couldn't be. It was. There was no mistaking it. It was a ripple. A ripple in the light on one of the roofs they just passed. He probably shouldn't be able to see it, but thanks to a certain science fiction movie series and a prior knowledge of Tau military units, he had an idea what to look for.

Thoughts ran through his head. Did he turn back and act like he hadn't seen anything? Alert the squad commander and let him decide? Run and hide like a little girl until the Kroot found him and munched on his brain? Well, apparently none of those were the appropriate responses that flowed through Michael's brain. Instead, he brought the Tau carbine to bear and opened fire at the ripple.

The pulse shots ripped into the ripple and sparks flew. Michael squeezed the trigger more, unloading the clip at the thing up on the roof. Before he could get another clip in, Sergeant Harris had Michael in a headlock.

"What in the warp are you doing?" growled the man, motioning for Jacob to take the carbine from Michael. Before he could though, there was a CRUMP noise as something heavy fell from the room Michael had been shooting at and landed in the street. The thing shimmered a little, like a liquid mirror before turning visible. It had been a XV25 Stealth Suit, but now it was a pulse riddled pile of bleeding scrap.

"Oh," was all the Sergeant had to say as he let Michael go. The young man staggered forward a step or two, trying to get his breath back. It was at that point that pulse beams lanced out from the rubble with a high pitched "kweem" noise. Jacob was quick, whirling around to face the attackers, who's shots had gone wide, and fired off a grenade with a soft "foomp". The grenade exploded, ripping apart the already destroyed building and silencing one of the rapid fire weapons. The others were not far behind, unloading into the rubble. The hail of gunfire succeeded in distracting the enemy long enough for Jacob to let off a second grenade, which tore down what remained of the building.

The squad stood there, muscles still tensed, with fingers on the triggers of their weapons. Their eyes darted around the now rubble strewn street, trying to spot any more stealthed Tau soldiers. After a few tense moments, the squad relaxed a little.

"How'd you know they were there?" asked Renald once they were on the move again.

"Predator," replied Michael with a matter of fact tone. This earned him a few questioning looks. "It's a mov-" he began to add when Dan held up a hand for silence. Everyone quieted down and tried to pick out what the Sergeant had heard. Slowly, there came low humming noise from a street away.

It was the sound of anti-grav engines. And there were only a handful of vehicles that Michael remembered that used anti-grav engines. He was about halfway through his mental list when a Hammerhead Gunship floated into the street, its railgun pointing right at them.

"God damnit..." muttered Michael.

* * *

Author's notes: I want to apologize for the extreme lateness of this and the next chapter. Life's been problematic, what with my moving back from Florida to Texas, working on an art portfolio and trying to get a job. I'll do my best in the future to at least update this thing to keep ya'll informed on how the story is progressing.


	11. The Pulling of Strings

**Chapter 11: The Pulling of Strings**

The raingun fired, but the shot went wide, obliterating the fronts of several already ruined buildings. The squad scattered just as the drone mounted Burst Cannons opened up, shredding the street where the guardsmen previously stood. Eva and Jacob ducked down an alley, intent on circling around to the gunship's blindside. Dan and Renald ran the opposite direction, bounding through the rubble of a destroyed building. Michael, however, wasn't given these options. Or that is to say, he didn't take either option. Instead, he ran straight for the tank, carbine blasting away on full auto.

Now, this was wholly uncharacteristic of Michael. Normally, he'd have ducked behind some rubble and tried to slink away or something. Normally. However, this wasn't one of those situations that would fall under the category of "normal". Somewhere in his head, hidden under the fear and that little voice of reason screaming for him to stop running AT the thing with the huge gun, he had given up. The way he figured, he was an Imperial Guardsman now on a war torn world in a war torn universe. He was probably going to die in some way or another. Most likely involving either fire or excessive pain. So, he figured, hey, what the hell? If he was going to die, he wasn't going to have it be by a gut shot and bleeding out into the dirt. He was going to go out in such a blaze of stupid glory that there would be stories told about him.

But of course, he wasn't thinking any of that. What he WAS thinking was "Oh my God Michael stop running we're going to die oh my God you're stupid oh shit oh shit oh damn". Apparently the Tau pilots couldn't quite comprehend what he was doing either, as the Burst Cannons stopped firing as the young man closed in. Next thing he and the Tau knew, he had one foot on the sensor array on the nose of the ship and his hands grabbing for a ledge or a recess in which to grab onto. This close in, the Hammerhead couldn't fire at him, let alone attack him. He hauled himself up onto the front of the Gunship, which was now waving side to side, trying to shake him off. Behind him, he heard yelling. Probably his squadmates either cheering him on or damning him for a fool. Up he crawled on his belly, making his way for the top hatch. Once there, he fumbled with the latch, trying to get it open. With an annoyed growl, he tossed the bulky Tau carbine away and worked the top hatch with both hands. The hatch came up and the Guardsman reached for his Autogun. Looking up at him from the Hammerhead's top hatch was a very surprised, very scared looking Tau. Bringing his rifle to bear, Michael managed to squeeze off a few rounds just as the Hammerhead's gunner pulled a pulse pistol and shot Michael square in the chest, knocking him backwards off the Hammerhead. The shots he had fired however managed to not only take out the gunner, but ricochet around the inside of the gunship, killing the crew as well.

* * *

Michael opened his eyes. Something was...off. He wasn't laying on the ground of a ruined city with blood pooling around him from the sucking chest wound he had supposedly just gotten. Instead, he was sitting in a very nice library with a crackling fire. He took a moment to look around and realized that his clothes were different as well. Instead of a dusty, bloody Guardsman uniform, he was dressed in clothes reminiscent of early 1900's England.

"What in the Nine Hells?" muttered Michael.

"Oh, good, you're here." came a voice from a previously unoccupied chair. The speaker was...well, a bird. A large one. With a headdress and robes. But the speaker wasn't really a bird either. It seemed to...shift. It took a moment for Michael to understand just who he was looking at.

"God fuckin' damnit," he said to the Chaos God.

"Ah, you know of me. Just as-"

"Please, don't say 'just as planned'. It's so damned cliche." Tzeentch narrowed his gaze at the young mortal. Had this little bag of flesh just sassed the Changer of Ways? Why yes, yes he had.

"You dare speak to ME in such a way?" asked Tzeentch, his voice like ice.

"Yes, yes I do." replied Michael, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms. "Way I figure it, you're either going to mutate me, corrupt me, or somehow fuck my shit sideways, or you have a plan for me and I'm your little puppet until you tire of me. Either way, I'm fucked, so a little sass is the least I can do."

Tzeentch was quiet for a moment as he assessed the situation. "This is...interesting," began the Chaos God, "I want to turn you into a gibbering lump of flesh, but it seems that...I cannot." The Chaos God flexed his talons. "It's as if someone, or something, is keeping me from harming you. It's almost as if..." Tzeentch paused again, then a sly smile crept across his beak. He knew what was happening, for he had peered beyond the walls of reality to see what was REALLY happening. Even for a being such as he, there were still things that could pull his strings on a whim, be it for personal gain, entertainment, or even to tell a story.

"Well, regardless of sass," continued Tzeentch with a wave of a clawed hand, "You are going to be my pawn. Simple as that."

"And if I refuse?" asked Michael, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, you cannot," replied the Chaos God. "You can try, but there are forces at work here beyond even MY power. But, all the same, you are going to forward my agenda. But don't expect me to tip things in your favor all the time like with that tank."

"That was you?" asked Michael, though he knew the answer as the question left his lips.

"Of course. Anyway, here's the deal. I'm getting into very dangerous territory with this, but if you follow through with this...job, then I'll send you back to your own time." Tzeentch reached down onto the coffee table that sat between the two chairs, picked up a tea cup that had apparently just appeared there, and took a sip, "It's about time you got back."

With no time to yell a complaint, Michael opted instead for a very quick flash of the finger before everything went white.

* * *

"Emperor's breath, he's alive!"

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuck," groaned Michael as he opened his eyes. He tried to sit up, but his chest felt like it was on fire. He wasn't dying, but he was in a hell of a lot of pain, almost blindingly so. The pulse pistol had, amazingly, been stopped by the flak armor. He tried to force himself up, but his right arm wouldn't respond. Rocking his head to the side, he noticed that he in fact did not have a right arm any more. What he could see of the street beyond his bloody stump was that it was strewn with what he could only assume was the Hammerhead. His mangled arm lay a few feet off, hastily wrapped in some cloth of some sort. Apparently after the "lucky" ricochet incident that killed the Hammerhead crew, the gunship crashed into a building which caused something to explode which, when all things were said and done, resulted in Michael having one less arm.

"Eva, make sure that dressing is on tight. Don't want the boy bleeding out before we can get him back to the base."

Michael managed one more annoyed, pained, barely comprehensible groan before slipping back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Author's notes: Yeah, wasn't quite sure how to deal with this chapter. We've got Michael sassing a Chaos God, said Chaos God being aware of the 4th wall, and some pretty bad borderline Gary Stu'ing. I suppose that's what happens when you force yourself to write at 2AM and on an empty stomach. I promise the next chapter will be a little more plausible.


	12. Back to Basics

Back to Basics

"Where is he?" demanded Inquisitor Alistair.

Renald tried to stammer out an answer but, due mostly to being questioned by an angry Imperial Inquisitor, could only point. Without the courtesy of a "thank you", Alistair stormed off in the direction of the Infirmary. It had been a good two days since Sergeant Harris' squad returned from their patrol, all but dragging along a beaten, mangled and half dead Michael. He had gone into surgery almost immediately and his squad was given a day off. Not due to any overwhelming performance on their part, but rather thanks to the Commissar's intervention. As the political officer to the Trianguli 105th and having the most direct line of communication to the "local" Inquisitor, Commissar Fargas had felt it her duty to keep them from going anywhere in case the Inquisition felt the need to question the whole squad.

In the infirmary, Michael lay on a cot, an IV in his left arm, bandages around his eyes and various other fields dressings for the scrapes and cuts he had sustained when the Hammerhead had blown up. His right arm had been quickly replaced with a cybernetic one. The operation on his arm, or at least what remained of it, was very touch and go, but to the amazement of the doctors, he had managed to pull through. At the same time, the field surgeons had opted to replace his eyes as well, citing that glasses would break too easily out on the battlefield and that a nearsighted soldier wouldn't last at all. Seeing it as their duty to save lives, they proceeded with the operation, which later earned them a rather harsh reprimand from the head doctor. Thought they had said that he'd be out for about two to three days, that didn't stop Michael's squad mates from stopping in every few hours to check up on the young man.

When Alistair strode in, Eva and Jacob were sitting next to the cot. They weren't talking about anything in particular, and stopped altogether when they saw the imposing form of the Inquisitor.

"Ah, sah," said Eva hurriedly jumping to attention. Jacob was a little slower, but likewise stood at attention.

"Is he awake?" asked the Inquisitor.

"Nay sir," replied Eva. "'E's been out since we brought'em in."

As if the universe was out to prove Eva wrong, Michael stirred. It wasn't a gentle stirring like on movies-a brief eyelid flutter, a muffled groan, that sort of thing. Instead it was a rather loud groan of "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck my life". Eva's head whipped around, accidentally smacking Jacob in the back of the head with her long deadlocks. She ran over to his cot, knelt down, and looked at the young man's face.

"Are ye a'right?" she asked with apparent concern.

It took Michael a moment, but after wetting his lips and coughing once or twice, he managed to speak. "Eva? That you?"

"Aye, it's me. How're ya feelin'?"

"I'd be lying if I said I felt well, but considering everything, I think I'm fine."

Eva smiled. "Well, that's good to hear." Her hands then went for Michael's throat to throttle him. "'Cause I'ma kill ya, ya daft stupid bloody git!" She barely had a hand around Michael's throat before Jacob pulled her back. "Ya go'a chargin' at tha' floatin' tank, climb on it like'a fuckin' jungle gym, then blow it up with'ya 'atop the damned thing! And witha' broken arm no less!" Eva struggled against Jacob's grip, still wanting to throttle some sense into Michael's head.

"Private McKellon," said Inquisitor Alistair calmly yet firmly, "Calm down." Eva's anger seemed to ebb, and she stopped trying to get away from Jacob to throttle Michael, but she still felt the need to beat up on her bedridden squad mate. "Private Bores, please take McKellon out of here. I need a word alone with the young man." With a nod, Jacob and Eva made their way out of the infirmary. When they had left, the Inquisitor stepped up next to Michael's cot.

"I know, I know," said Michael preemptively, trying to sit up on the cot. He was having trouble, as his augmented arms wasn't responding like he wanted it too. "I done goofed. Suppose you're here to, I dunno, execute me or something?"

"You are half right young man," replied the Inquisitor. "You did, as you said, 'done goof', but I am not here to kill you. Not yet anyway."

"That's reassuring," replied Michael grimly. He had managed to prop himself up on his augmented arm and was fidgeting with the bandages around his eyes with his left hand.

"I am however here to take you away."

"...Say wha?" He paused and turned his head in the Inquisitor's direction.

"You are a valuable source of knowledge. We can't have you out in the field where you could die."

"So let me guess. You're going to take me to Terra, pick apart my brain and throw me away when you're done with me?" His tone was bitter with hints of anger. He didn't have anything to lose after all. He was on a crapsack world in a crapsack universe. The Inquisition wanted him as some sort of lab rat, the Chaos Gods wanted him as some sort of pawn, hell, his own squad mates hated him. At this point, talking back to an Imperial Inquisitor was par for the course. "No," he continued, tugging the bandages off his head finally, then wincing as his new eyes adjusted to the light.

"No?" Alistair raised an eyebrow. "You're in no position to be making choices boy."

"No," repeated Michael. "I'm needed here." He squinted up at Alistair. "I have a job to do here." He did his best to glare up at the Inquisitor. "Here's the deal. I go with you, I'll off myself as soon as I'm able, or do whatever it takes to keep you from getting the info that's in my head. On the other hand, I stay here, join the guard properly, get training, you can pick my brain to your artificial heart's content. I'm going to die one way or the other. I just prefer it to be on my terms."

The Inquisitor stared at the young man sitting there defiantly. He was either very brave, or very, very stupid. Alistair actually found himself considering the deal. It was either months of travel through the warp to Terra, during which any number of things could happen to himself, the ship or the boy, or just as long here, either on the planet or in orbit, and he would get the information immediately, which he could send off to Terra as he received it.

"And, I'd like to add one more thing." spoke up Michael from the cot. "I...I'd like to convert." This earned Michael a raised eyebrow and the closest he had seen to a surprised look on Alistair's face in a while. "Renounce my faith, join yours." He paused a moment, thinking of the right words and examples. "It's...a matter of belief you see? Christianity's been dead for who knows how long. It's not a strong religion any more. A God with just one follower is pretty much on life support. With Chaos running roughshod over everything, I think I'm going to need a bigger gun, so to speak."

_That and it'll keep him from definitively labeling me as a heretic_, thought Michael.

Well that seemed to be the selling point there. "All right," said Alistair slowly, "We'll do it your way." A smile appeared on Michael's face. "For now. You will go through Guard training, learn the ways of the Imperial Creed and give up any information that we ask."

"Agreed, but only if I know the answers to your questions." said Michael "I don't know EVERYTHING, but I know quite a bit, and I will share it willingly."

With little more than a nod, the Inquisitor turned and made to leave the infirmary. He did stop for one last comment though. "Get some rest boy. The next months are going to be hell." And with that, Alistair stomped out.

* * *

Author's Notes: I'd like to thank the people reviewing my chapters for helping me a bit with this one. One of the things that was brought up was the whole heresy issue which, with a little thinking, also made me realize that Michael's not had any military training. So ka-blam, we get this chapter. Trying to fix all the little things I goofed with. Action'll pick up next chapter, as will more Chaos God shenanigans.

Also considering on starting a short horror themed Pokemon fic. I'll put up the first chapter later this week and cite/link it in the next chapter's Author's Notes. If reviews are good, then I'll see about alternating between the two.


	13. Back to the Front

Back to the Front

The Inquisitor had been right. The months after his recovery, constantly filled with training, learning, and questioning had been like a living hell, but Michael somehow endured. It was demanding in every sense-physically, mentally, emotionally. At times he just wanted to give up, but something pushed him onwards, some force or purpose that wouldn't let him quit. He learned how to be a proper Imperial citizen and how to be a Guardsman. He learned to drill, shoot, fight, pray and live the way the Imperium wanted him to.

During the few breaks he had, he was either being questioned relentlessly by either the Inquisitor or one of his staff, or he was being force fed Imperial religious dogma. He learned that the only reason he had been given any leeway with speaking to the Inquisition or the command staff of the Guard was that it was painfully obvious that he was not an Imperial citizen. That of course changed the moment he had started basic training along with the other raw recruits. Snark and sass were not tolerated and it earned him a beating on more than one occasion.

But it was over, and Michael and a good hundred or so recruits were now official Guardsmen. Sitting on his cot in the barracks, he fiddled with his new rank insignias that marked him as a Private. He occasionally bounced on the canvas bed, happy to finally sleep on something that approached the concept of comfortable. Against the wall lay his new weapon, a standard pattern Lasgun. He had come to see the advantages of the "flashlight" over the Autogun he had chosen when he had first arrived, and told himself that he'd not go back to that clunky old thing. Everything he owned now was Imperial property and standard issue, and the annoyance at that issue had long since faded.

"So, you're official now?" came a voice from the doorway.

Michael leapt to his feet and snapped to attention. It was a conditioned response now, and one that he'd be more than happy to break. "Yes sir," he replied curtly.

Tearing his eyes from the spot on the wall that he found himself staring at, he noticed that it was Sergeant Harris standing there with the faintest sign of an amused smile on his face. "At ease kid," said the Sergeant, and Michael relaxed a hair.

"So how was basic?" asked Dan, walking in and taking a seat on his own cot.

"It was...fine," replied Michael, who had slowly sat back down on his own cot and replaced his rank tags.

"And your arm?" asked the older man, motioning to the gleaming metal prosthetic.

"It doesn't hurt as much any more sir. Stupid strong though." He held up his hand and slowly clenched and unclenched it. The little servos and mechanics inside the arm whirred and clicked as he did so.

"That's good. Ready to get back out there?"

Michael didn't answer for a while. Eventually, he shrugged. "I...suppose so sir."

"Good, 'cause we leave in ten minutes."

With a muttered "shit," Michael began hurrying to get his gear on and secured. "With all due respect sir, you could have told me sooner."

"Yeah, well, I didn't. Now hurry up and meet at the Chimeras in five."

* * *

The engines of the four Chimeras were rumbling when Michael arrived. Two were already closed up and waiting, a third was just closing its back hatch, and the last one was still doing some last minute checks. Jogging over to the last Chimera, he spotted Jacob and Eva over the tops of the crowd. Hurrying over, he spotted Renald and Dan as well. They were conversing with one another and checking their gear one last time. Michael didn't say anything, just stood there, waiting for the Tech Priests to finish their checks so they could embark. None of his squad seemed to notice his presence there. He was just your standard Guardsman now, not "that weird boy" or "The Inquisitor's pet project". No, he was just Guardsman Michael. He was still unsure how he felt about that, turning into just another face in the crowd.

After a bit, the Tech Priests finished up and the remainder of the troops filed into the Chimera, took their seats and buckled in. It wasn't until they were well on their way did he get noticed.

"Michael?" said Jacob, "What're you doing here?"

"Hmm?" Michael turned his attention from examining the inside of the Chimera and looked towards his squad mate. "Oh, I finished basic. Like...this morning." That wasn't truly accurate, but it was close enough.

Jacob didn't say anything, just nodded. Eva however did. Leaning forward in her seat, she asked "So, did they beat that stupid streak out of you in basic or what?"

"You can't cure stupid McKellon," chimed in another soldier, and there were a few chuckles. Michael turned his attention back to the Chimera's compartment, trying to forget about the now embarrassing acts of stupidity he had pulled before.

"All right guys," shouted Sergeant Harris over the sound of the engines, "We've got a job to do today. We, along with the other three squads, are to retake the Market District. Recently some Orks have moved in are are using it as a staging ground for attacks. We're expecting moderate to heavy resistance. We're not sure of their numbers, but we know they have armor." A soldier groaned, but Dan ignored him. "We've no word on reinforcements as of yet, so for now, it's just us. Don't do anything stupid and try not to die." There was a mutter of "Yes sir"s throughout the cabin. Michael had chimed in as well, but mostly on reflex. In his mind, he was running through everything he knew about Orks and their "tech". He hoped that everything would go smoothly, but when small arms fire started pinging off the hulls of the Chimeras, he just wished that he would survive.

* * *

Author's notes: This chapter was hard to write, but I'm not really sure why. I guess it's because I was forcing it or something. Oh well. Expect over the top "Rule of Cool" action next chapter.

The Pokemon fic I mentioned last chapter is up. It's called "The Nightmare Gym of Lavender Town". I'll post a link to it next chapter when the site is done processing it.


	14. Into the Fray

Into the Fray

"Fuck this shit!" yelled Michael as a hail of gunfire flew overhead. It had only been two minutes since he and the other guardsmen had disembarked from the Chimera transports, and not only was he pinned down by some Ork Shoota Boyz, but two of the tanks were blown to pieces, one had its main gun destroyed, and the last one had run away.

Risking a glance up over the short brick wall he was hiding behind, he assessed the situation. The market was large and fairly open with the remains of buildings serving as the "border". Where there had once been stalls now were an almost equal number of craters and destroyed emplacements of both Imperial and Ork nature. What remained of the stalls and buildings was either rubble or splinters, with only a handful of still standing structures around the rim. These were obviously fortified with sheet metal, rockcrete, sandbags and, in places, destroyed vehicles. The Orks were, surprisingly, not dug in, at least not much. Michael could tell from the brief glimpses of the vehicles they were riding around in that these were "Speed Freaks", or at least loaners to the bigger WAAAAGH. The red paint tended to give them away. The areas that the Orks had commandeered appeared to be makeshift refueling and rearming depot, which truthfully were nothing more than a few overly laden Trukks with Grots scurrying about., situated in front of some still standing buildings.

Michael ducked back down behind the wall just as a fresh barrage peppered his location. He took this time, as the Shoota Boyz were expending their ammunition at an alarming rate, to take assessment of the Imperial's situation. A wall over to his left hunkered Renald and Eva, occasionally popping up to take potshots at some Orks or their rides. Beyond them were Jacob and Dan. Jacob was struggling with his freshly issued Meltagun while Dan covered him with his Lasgun. He other Guardsmen were not faring any better. Casualties were mounting for the Guards. It was either run and get shot in the back, or hold their position and die slowly.

Popping up over the wall once more, Michael snapped off a shot at a passing Wartrakk, clipping the gunner in the knee and causing the pintle mounted gun to swing about wide and hit a few Shoota Boyz that were hunkering behind a downed Sentinel.

"Fuck," growled Michael. He wouldn't die here. He refused to die here. But what could he do? Keep on snapping off shots, hoping to get lucky? He swore again and snapped off another shot, this one taking an Ork in the chest but not dropping him. Instead, it just made the Ork angry. A pair followup shots from Michael's left finished the job though. Looking over, Eva gave him a nod.

"Ye gotta' doubletap'em. Di'ya learn nothin' from basic?"

Michael's reaction was simply to smirk at the woman then get back to picking off targets. As he was scanning for easy marks, he noticed that the Ork Eva helped him take down had a bandoleer of stikkbombz. Ducking behind the wall once more, his mind raced. He told himself that he wouldn't do anything stupid again like with the Hammerhead, but at this rate, they were all going to die by sheer attrition.

"Screw it," he decided after a bit of consideration. "Eva!" he called over to the dreadlocked woman, "I need you and Renald to cover me!" Without even waiting on an ok, Michael scrambled up over the wall and ran out into the firefight. He thought he heard Eva yell at him, but he didn't pay her any mind.

It took the Orks a moment or two to realize just what was happening. This little 'ooman was running right at them. Not yelling or screaming or even shooting at them. Maybe that's why they didn't act before Michael was already upon them.

"Kill'em boyz!" bellowed one Ork who tried to level his Shoota at Michael as he ran past. There was a loud KRAK and the Ork tumbled over dead from a lasround through the head, courtesy of Eva McKellon. Flipping his lasgun to full auto, Michael slid into cover right next to the stikkbomb laden corpse and unloaded a good ten shots into the corpse's remaining buddy. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he picked up the bandoleer in his left hand and, after a moment's consideration, the Ork's fallen Choppa in his augmented hand.

"Wha' tha' bloody fekkin' 'ell di'ya think yer doin'?" barked Eva as she slid into cover next to Michael. He had jumped when she had spoken, but composed himself as best as he could (considering the firefight still raging around them). He held up the bandoleer and nodded towards the ammo and fuel trukks and she seemed to get the idea.

"Ah'm fasta," she said simply as shots flew overhead.

"I figured," he said handing the stikkbombz to her. "I'll cover you."

"Ya damn well bettah," she said with the hint of a smile.

They both sprang up from cover at the same time, Eva with the bandoleer in one hand, a laspistol in the other, and Michael with an Ork choppa in one hand and firing from the hip on full auto with his lasgun with the other. It wasn't the best strategy, as far as strategies go, but it did the job. Sort of.

With a roar, a squad of Shoota Boyz, who would have otherwise shot at Eva, turned their attention to the little pink man with the metal arm shooting red lasers at them. A few of Michael's shots hit, but didn't do much damage, dropping maybe one or two Orks out of the dozen or so he had hit. He was about to drop down behind the remains of a ruined stall to reload when a hail of lasfire ripped into the squad. Looking over at the Imperial lines, it seemd that not only had Jacob managed to get the Melta working, but he had managed to take out a Trukk, allowing the previously pinned Guards to advance and provide covering fire.

One of the Orks from the recently decimated squad wasn't having any of these shenanigans however. His mind set on whatever the Ork equivalent of the phrase "If you want something done right, do it yourself" was, he hefted a Slugga and a Choppa and charged the puny little 'ooman.

"God damnit," growled Michael as he fumbled with his lasgun, trying to reload it. He risked a look up and saw that, somehow, the lasguns of the guards were either missing the huge Ork or not affecting him in the least, despite causing visible wounds. He only had time to get his lasgun up to block the Ork's Choppa, which sundered the rifle into pieces and sent Michael sprawling back onto the ruined cobbles. He tried to hurry to his feet, looking around for anything to use as a weapon. And then his eyes fell upon the looted Choppa. Picking up the heavy hunk of sharpened metal in his augmented hand, he got to his feet in time to parry another of the Ork's attacks, a clumsy followthrough. The Ork had left himself wide open, and Michael took the opportunity to aim a two handed swing at the Ork. The Choppa bit deep into the greenskin's side, the momentum of the swing carrying it back out and leaving a bloody gash. The greenskin roared in pain and rage, but was cut off by the followthrough, a upward diagonal slice, powered by the augmentations in Michael's arm, which screamed in protest at the weight of the axe. The Ork dropped and Michael just stood there, stunned. He had just taken on a full grown Ork in close combat. And won. Someone was looking out for him today. He just worried about who was doing the looking after. He was going to question it further from behind cover when a massive explosion rocked the marketplace.

* * *

While Michael went toe to toe with the Ork, Eva was dashing through oncoming Ork gunfire, leaping, tumbling and jumping over obstacles, never slowing down. She snapped off a few shots with her sidearm, but no more than there were Orks in her way. Gripping a Stikkbomb in one hand and having slung the bandoleer over her shoulder, she jumped up and vaulted over the low side of a parked Ork Trukk, through a group of rather stunned Boys, and back over the other side. Lucky for her, they didn't notice the live Stikkbomb she had left them before it was too late.

The resulting explosion and cataclysmic destruction of the trukk drew even more attention away from the slip of a girl that was now only yards away from the ammo and fuel trukks. Taking another stikkbomb, Eva pulled the cord and tossed it under a parked guntrakk, blowing it to pieces and cooking off the ammunition, resulting in several dead Orks. Pulling yet another grenade from the bandoleer, she readied it and the rest of the stikkbombz. Running past the fuel and ammo trucks, Eva tossed the spare stikkbomb at fuel trukk and the bandoleer of now life stikkbombs under the ammo trukk. She kept running and dove through the partially sandbagged up doorway of a ruined shop. She managed to tumble behind a wall as the stikkbombz went off, obliterating the trukks and pretty much anything else not behind cover in the blast radius. As the ammo cooked off, more Orks died and more of the makeshift vehicles were destroyed.

It was at about this point that the Ork moral faltered. A few of the more ballsy ones decided to continue fighting, whereas the remaining Grots and smarter Orks decided that it would be better to fall back, regroup and come back with more Boyz and more dakka (of which you can never have enough). A cheer went up from the Imperial lines, but died down as the remaining soldiers attended to the dead and their own gear. Not one above scavenging, Michael made his way back to the Imperial lines, picked up a fallen lasgun from some dead Guardsman, and jogged off towards where he last saw Eva running to.

"Eva?" he called as he reached the still burning wreck of the makeshift fuel and ammo dump. "Eva, you alive?" A groan from one of the buildings caught his attention. The front of the shop that Eva had dived into was destroyed, with only a few bits of rebar and rockcrete still standing.

As he stepped into the shop, he saw Eva pull herself to her feet from an alcove behind the counter. "Remin' me ta' nevah lissin' ta' ya evah again." She lurched around towards Michael and leaned on him for support. "You good to fight?" he asked, and she nodded. "Good, 'cause we're going to need to be ready. They're coming back for round two."

* * *

Author's notes: I think I'm pretty happy with this chapter to be honest (considering I _just _typed it up in like the last hour). I know Eva's part is a _bit_ improbable, but in the words of Lil John, "I don' give a fuck!". Anyway, expect more stupid over the top action in the next chapter.

Also, here is the promised link to the Pokemon fic I was working on:

.net/s/7314551/1/The_Nightmare_Gym_of_Lavender_Town

Just...you know, copy and past it or whatever.


	15. The Green Tide and Mr Exposition

**The Green Tide and Mr. Exposition**

The guardsmen had rallied quickly in the short lull between the initial attack and the second wave. The less hurt soldiers managed to get a rough barricade together from the scrap heaps that were once Ork trukks and trakks. Supplies were salvaged from the destroyed Chimeras and at least one enterprising guardsman tried to get the Multi-Laser on one of the less damaged tanks working again.

"Man I hate this waiting," grumbled Renald, who was hunkered down behind a ruined Wartrakk. He had come out mostly unhurt aside from a few scrapes. "Don't worry," replied Jacob as he made some slight adjustments to his Melta. "The Orks'll be back soon enough." Despite the situation, the large scarred man was calm. He was almost always like this during battle. Renald had asked him about it once, how he was so calm when he very well may die. "There's no point in worrying about something that will eventually happen. The Emperor's got a plan for everyone." Renald thought it was all rather silly, but he wasn't about to tell his friend that.

"That's not a comforting thought Jake," replied Renald.

"Sorry Ren," said Jacob, adjusting the sight of his gun, "But think of this: We finish up here, we can go back to the barracks." He nudged his younger friend with his shoulder. "Cheer up, it can't get wo-"

"Don't you dare say it," interrupted Renald. Jacob only laughed.

The Guardsmen were lucky. They were at least able to hear the Orks before they saw them. The rumble of their engines and their warcries were signal enough to get ready for the attack. Dan sent up a silent prayer to the Emperor, thankful that the Orks were so stupid. The first of the Ork vehicles broke into the market square, and was promptly obliterated by a hail of lasgun fire. The next few slammed into the burning wreck, and then each other, causing a catastrophic pileup. To the Guard's credit, they didn't let up their attack, mowing down any surviving Orks with a flurry of shots.

And then the bug trukks came. The Battlewagons smashed through the pileup, heedless of any surviving Orks that may have been in the way. The Guards lasguns did little to stop these smoke belching behemoths. The Wagons drove full speed for the Guard lines, guns blazing, and the guardsmen in its path only had seconds to jump out of the way, lest they be crushed under the treads. As each of the Battlewagons-three in all-passed through the Guards lines, Ork Boyz disembarked and charged the entrenched soldiers, yelling war cries and swinging their choppas.

Renald and Jacob, both of who were close enough to one of the Wagons to become targets for the dismounting Orks, acted quickly. Renald brought his lasrifle up and, with barely a second's aiming, put a lasround between the beady red eyes of a charging Ork. He followed up with a second, this one through the Ork's left eye, dropping the greenskin. Not stopping to admire his handiwork, Renald moved onto the next target, popping another Ork in the ear, sending it's brain flying out the other side, then a third with two well placed shots through the Ork's open mouth, severing the spinal column.

While Renald was picking off Orks like some sort of video game, Jacob was doing his best to take out the Ork armor. He managed to burn a deep gouge into one of the Wagons as it passed, the scrap metal oozing where the melta blast impacted. One or two Orks crawled out, limbs reduced to ash. Without stopping to admire his handiwork, Jacob turned and took aim at his next target, a War Trukk with a squad of Boyz, all itching to get stuck into the fight.

Further down the line, Dan, Eva and Michael were barely holding the line with some other guardsmen. With Dan calling out targets, the squad mowed down just about anything that got close with a hail of lasfire. However, the might of the Imperials' weapons were not enough to stop the mass of charging Orks. A few Boyz broke through and started tearing into the guardsmen. One was taken out by a bayonet to the chest and a hail of lasfire on full auto. Another jumped down at Eva from the wreckage they were taking cover behind. She speared it through the chest with her bayonet and, using the Ork's own momentum, flipped it over her, onto the ground, and fired off a handful of shots into the Ork's chest. Pulling her rifle out, she followed up with two more to the head, then turned her attention back to the oncoming horde.

Dispatching one of the smaller Boyz with a double tap to the face, Dan swung his rifle around onto his back, and drew his sidearm, a laspistol. Taking the pistol in two hands like one would at a firing range, he began picking off Boyz left and right. Whereas Renald was scary accurate with a lasrifle, Dan was scary accurate with a laspistol. Headshot, headshot, chest then double tap to the head, kneecap to head. Anything he shot was either dead or finished off by one of the other guardsmen.

At the heart of the line fighting though was Michael. His sense of self-preservation had gone right out the window when the Orks had jumped into close combat. Having discarded his empty lasgun, the young man was going to town on any Ork that got within reach of his Choppa wielding cybernetic arm. He hadn't had any training with the weapon, which amounted to nothing more than a sharpened hunk of metal on a stick, but his arm did most of the work. The gears and servos, combined with the sheer force of the weapon resulted in cleaved limbs and split skulls.

"Having fun are we?" came a voice inside of Michael's head.

"Who the..." began Michael until he realized the voice. "Oh you ASS."

"Ah tut tut tut, manners," replied Tzeentch with a chuckle that seemed to reverberate through Michael's head.

"Fuck you and fuck your manners," growled Michael as he lopped off the arm of an over eager Ork that was invading his personal space. "If you haven't noticed, I'm a bit busy."

"Oh, right, that." replied the Chaos God in a bored tone.

And then everything stopped.

"What the nine hells?" muttered Michael as he stared up at the frozen Ork that had, moments ago, been bearing down on him. Looking around, he realized that everything had frozen still. Everything except for a bird headed figure walking towards him, passing through the rubble, soldiers and frozen gunfire as if it was all smoke.

"You stopped time?" asked Michael, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I can do that," replied Tzeentch casually.

"Right," said the young man. "So, I assume you want to talk or something?"

"Aww, how'd you guess?" replied the God in a mocking tone.

"Gee, I wonder." countered Michael dryly.

The two stared at each other, obvious dislike painted on their faces. "So," began Tzeentch, turning around. "I've...never done this. This...'exposition'...thing." This earned a raised eyebrow from Michael. "But I feel...compelled," the Chaos God spat the word, "to explain why you are here."

After a few deep breaths, the God continued. "You're going to be my pawn." It looked to almost physically hurt the deity to explain the plan.

"Yeah, kinda figured that" interrupted Michael, but Tzeentch ignored him.

"Specifically, you're going to balance the scales on this planet. If things keep proceeding untouched and unaltered, then, well..." The God paused, searching for the right words. "The shit will hit the fan." Tzeentch turned his bird like head to look at the young man. "The other three gods have a foothold on this planet. The short of it is that if Chaos takes a hold of this planet, the scales of divine chaos power will tip in their favor, leaving me high and dry."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "And that would be bad because...?"

"I'm the one that keeps those yahoos in check" replied Tzeentch. "They all but serve me. Khorne changes living, breathing creatures into dead piles of meat and bone. Nurgle changes healthy beings into diseased mockeries of their former selves. Slaanesh changes people from all upright and moral into debased endorphin jockeys. Change, change, change."

Michael sighed. "There's no way I can say no, is there?"

"Nope. This is all out of my hands."

"But...you're the schemer. The puppet master. Who could pull YOUR strings?"

The God paused and thought. In the end, he knew now was not the time to tell his future pawn. Instead, he smiled as only a bird faced god of plots and schemes could. "Spoilers," he said, wagging a finger.

"Right," Michael sighed and rolled his eyes, "What am I going to have to do? And remember, you mentioned I'd get sent home when I did your dirty work."

"I remember boy." The annoyance was evident on Tzeentch's face. "As I have told you, the other three gods have a foothold here. You're going to loosen that foothold."

"Just me?" asked Michael, somewhat alarmed.

"Of course. It shouldn't be too hard. After all, you have me."

Michael's expression was stern and unamused.

"Not buying it huh?"

"Nope."

"Well I need you to succeed. Those Greater Demons won't kill themselves you know."

"Fuck man, seriously? Greater Demons?"

"Did I not mention that? Yeah, you need to kill the other God's champions who, in this case, are Greater Demons. You destroy the demons, you deal a massive blow to their foothold on the planet. Enough for one of the other armies to force them off."

"So no pissed off Khornite berzerker or girly Slaaneshi dom on a phallic snake mount?"

"Nope, just Demons."

Michael considered this a bit. "Well I suppose it could be worse. I'll do it if you help my squad as well."

"No dice," replied Tzeentch, crossing his arms.

"Look, killing one Greater Demon, sure, that's doable. It's happened. But three? I'm gonna either need some extreme Divine support or a group, and I honestly don't trust you enough for **that** much help."

The Chaos God scowled at Michael.

"It's give and take. I do your dirty work, you give me the tools I need to do it. And I need my squad."

Tzeentch looked like he wanted to kill the upstart little mortal. "**Fine**," he spat. "You get your squad." He pointed a clawed finger at Michael "But no complaining, or I mutate the lot of them."

"Fair enough."

"Good. Now watch out," said Tzeentch as he rapidly faded away. As he did, time reasserted itself and the battle raged once more.

"Fuck!" yelled Michael, diving out of the way of the attacking Ork that had been charging him before Tzeentch's impromptu meeting. He got to his feet and got his Choppa up just in time to parry a blow from the greenskin. The Ork's attacks were wide and clumsy, relying more on pure power than any actual skills. Michael continued to parry and dodge as best as he could, looking for a wide enough opening to-

"Michael! Down!"

On automatic, Michael dropped down below a swing from the Ork. A second later, the top of the Ork's head was vaporized. Looking around, Michael spotted Dan and Eva jogging over behind cover, with Renald and Jacob not too far behind. Ren was reloading, so it probably had been him that took out the Ork.

"Nice of you to join me" said Michael, fishing around in the rubble for a working lasgun. The Ork offensive was wavering. Apparently they had not expected such resistance and were slowly falling back.

"So what's the plan boss?" asked Renald when the squad had regrouped.

Jacob popped up from behind cover and blasted another Trukk with his Melta.

"Um..." Dan looked around. "Survive?"

"Good a plan as any," replied Eva, reloading her rifle.

* * *

Author's Notes: Yeah, shit's getting weird. I think I left Canon and Lore on the side of the road a few chapters back...Anyway, for those that say "Fuck it, let's see where this goes, to hell with Lore", I'd like to thank you for putting up with my sporadic uploading times and such. It only gets worse/better from here.

Also, considering dropping the Pokemon fic I started and, maybe, starting a slice-of-life style one based around the Pokemon. Would probably help or when I feel burned out on this fic.

**Edit**: I REALLY need to stop writing at like 2AM. Everything seems like a good idea at that time of night. Took out the Emperor bit. Suppose I'll have him show up at some other time or something. Have him and Tzeentch play each other in Super Smash Bros or something.


	16. The Cavalry Arrives

The Cavalry Arrives

The Ork reinforcements had tapered off a little after Tzeentch's little exposition intermission. Sure, there were a few buggies still coming in, but nothing of the overly big or overly fast variety. Most of the Battlewagons were crippled or outright destroyed, and a few ballsy guardsmen managed to climb aboard and repurpose the looted weapon, turning them on the Orks. There were piles of bodies around the battlefield, mostly Orks, much to the Imperial's relief. They were doing a good job of keeping the Orks at a range, though the occasional one managed to get through to disrupt the firing line.

Over at Dan's squad, everyone was hunkered down behind the remains of a buggy. Occasionally, they'd pop up and take pot shots at the Orks charging blindly towards the Imperial lines.

"This sucks," muttered Renald.

"Such is life in the Guard," replied Eva, popping off a shot, taking an Ork in the knee and sending him sprawling.

"It's what'cha signed up for," added Jacob, who followed up Eva's shot with one of his own, hitting the Ork in the top of it's head, splattering it's brains all over the place.

"Nice one," commented Michael, taking aim at another Ork with his "borrowed" lasgun. He squeezed off a round at a charging greenskin, but the shot went wide. "Fuckin'..." he growled, hunkering back down behind cover to tinker with his weapon.

"On the fritz again?" asked Renald without looking. He had since gotten used to Michael's annoyed swearing. The young man squeezed off a shot, sending an Ork sprawling to the ground, which was followed up by a hail of lasfire from another squad down the line.

"So," said Michael as he began field stripping his rifle, "What do ya'll think our chances of survival are?"

"'S bad luck to talk like that," said Jacob as he reloaded his rifle.

"'Nother buggy headed this way Jake," commented Dan. The big soldier set his rifle down and picked up his Melta, checked the remaining ammo, stood, and took aim. "Anyway," continued Dan, "things are looking a bit bleak honestly." He squeezed off a few shots at the buggy driver at it raced closer, the ducked down behind cover as Jacob let loose with his Melta. The front portion of the buggy melted away and dug into the ruptured concrete street, flipping it end over end.

"Everyone down!" yelled Jacob, throwing himself flat as the buggy came tumbling towards the squad. Eva and Renald managed to throw themselves down just as the flaming hunk of metal that was once a buggy flipped up over the ruin they were hunkered behind, over their heads, and slammed into the remains of a store several meters behind them.

"...Shit." muttered Renald after a stunned moment.

"Eeyup," added Michael before going back to his rifle. "So, would ya'll say our chances are...oh..." He pondered a moment as he realigned some mechanisms. "A million to one?"

There was a brief silence from the squad as they got back into position. Eventually, Eva spoke up. "Yeah, that sounds about right." The others muttered grimly in agreement.

"Oh, ok," replied Michael, putting his rifle back together. "We should be fine then." Slamming in a fresh clip, he retook his position at the wreck and began shooting.

Off in the distance though, there was a warcry that caused the guardsmen to falter. it was an Orkish warcry. Apparently more Boyz were on their way to get stuck in.

"Oh fuck a duck..." muttered Michael. From where the previous Orks had arrived from came a whole new wave of Orks. The sound was deafening, even from across the battlefield. Such was the noise though that neither Michael nor his squadmates heard the louder rumbling coming from behind their own lines.

Suddenly, tanks. They came crashing through what remained of the market stores, crushing Orkish wrecks and flattening Ork Boyz. The first wave was led by Hellhounds and Destroyers with dozer blades, clearing the path for standard pattern Leman Russes and Sentinel Squadrons, which opened fire as soon as the Orks were in sight. Behind them came Chimeras and a contingent of Salamander Command vehicles. The Ork reinforcements arrived on the battlefield, only to slam into the Imperial tank charge. Bringing up the rear of the Imperial charge was a Baneblade, which fired off a shot with its battle cannon, obliterating one of the reinforcing Battlewagons.

The squad, along with the rest of the battle weary guardsmen, stood in stunned silence. Then a cheer went up across the line and Michael broke into near hysteric laugh. "Fucking awesome!" was all he could say. The whole thing reminded him of the Charge of the Rohirrim from the Lord of the Ring series. But with tanks.

"Sergeant Harris," came an authoritative voice from behind the squad. Everyone turned to see Commissar Fargas disembarking from a Command Salamander. They would have snapped to attention, but they were still on the battlefield, so they simply assumed an "at ease" stance.

"I see you held out well," commented the Commissar as she looked around. Her gaze passed over the squad and stopped on the Ork Choppa hanging from Michael's webbing. "Private Michael," she said, taking a step forward and pointing at the xeno 'weapon', 'what is that?"

"It's a choppa madam Commissar. Ork...er...gear."

"It's a xeno weapon," she said, reaching for her bolt pistol. "It's techno-heresy."

"Ma'am," replied Michael quickly, "Calling this sharp hunk of metal on a stick a weapon is an offense to weapons everywhere." Apparently the truth of this statement swayed the Commissar, since she moved her hand away from her boltpistol. Michael breathed a sigh of relief. He really didn't feel like taking a bolt to the head anytime soon.

"It saved his life," added Eva, which earned her a raised eyebrow from Mina. "The idiot went toe to toe with an Ork in close combat." Commissar Whilimina Fargas turned back to Michael, her one working eye open wide in surprise. "Him?" she asked, looking back to Eva in surprise, to which the tattooed, dreadlocked soldier nodded in affirmation.

"It's the arm ma'am," added Michael. He shifted his mechanical arm which was now stained red in places from the Orks he had taken apart earlier in the battle.

The Commissar stared at Michael like he was some sort of disgusting yet very interesting bug. Eventually she tore her gaze away from the young man and turned back to the Dan. "Sergeant, a word if you will." She motioned to the idling Command Salamander, and Dan followed her. "You guys find a Chimera heading back to the base," called Dan.

About ten minutes later, the squad (minus Dan) was strapped into their seats in the back of a Chimera heading back to base for a much needed rest. Michael slept on the way there, his dreams filled with strange eldritch things and the soft laughing of Tzeentch. This was only the beginning after all.

* * *

Author's notes: Hey ya'll, very sorry about the lack of updates lately. I recently (as of mid October) got a job at Toys R Us and the hours don't really help with writing (and the chronic case of writer's block I seem to have gotten). And Skyrim doesn't help . But with the end of this overly long Ork battle, we can get into the demon slaying and over the top action. Only problem: I don't know what demon to tackle first. So if you wanna help influence the course of the story, send me a PM before the next chapter (which I may have out around mid to late December, depending on work and writer's block).


	17. Wakeup Call

Wakeup Call

**Bzzt bzzt bzzt.**

The sound of the alarm was damn near painful to Michael. With a muffled groan, he reached over to his nightstand, fumbling blindly. Eventually he found his phone and quickly hit the "off" button for the alarm. He shut his eyes again and drew the plush covers up over his head.

_Too damn early_, he though sourly. Of course, it was 9:00 AM, but early was relative in his opinion. It took him a moment to realize that something wasn't right. He reached over to the nightstand again and picked up his glasses, managing to get them on his face without stabbing himself in the eye. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he looked around. He was back in his apartment. Back in the 21st century, on Earth.

"The hell?" he mumbled. A noise came from out in the main room, which sobered him up faster than a jet black espresso. Swinging his leg over the pair of mattresses that made up his bed, he stepped lightly over the permanent clutter of clothes, loose papers and general stuff that littered his floor. Opening his bedroom door, his eyes went directly to the cause of the noise.

"Oh, mornin'." said Eva happily, turning to look at Michael. He would have normally tried to keep his eyes on her face, but he was still loopy from sleep and let his eyes wander. Saying she was under dressed was a bit of an understatement, seeing as she only wore a long button-down shirt that hung just below her butt and a smile. Her dreadlocks were pulled back in a ponytail as usual and she had a spatula on one hand, the other resting on the handle of a frying pan.

"The fuck is this?" muttered Michael, stepping out into the combination kitchen/living room/dining room. He scratched his head and looked around, trying to order his thoughts.

"I thought I would make you breakfast," said Eva with a smile. She flipped the pancake in the skillet then turned to regard him as the flapjack cooked. "Ya need ta get dressed sweetie, the boys are coming over for the game in a bit."

_Sweetie?_ thought Michael. Ok, something was fucked up here. "Eva, what he fuck is going on here?" He gestured to the apartment, taking a moment to notice that his previously mechanical right arm was once again flesh and blood. "Why are we on Earth? Why aren't we on Aarseth? What is going on here?" His tone was a mix of angry and worried. Everything seemed so real, but he knew something was very, very wrong.

Eva stared at him, one eyebrow raised. "What are you talking about?" she asked in a worried tone. She set the spatula down, walked over and put her arms around Michael's neck, looking him in the eye. "Are you all right sweetie?" she asked, still concerned. She embraced him, which admittedly, Michael did not mind at all. But something felt...off. Parts of Eva's body were jabbing him in places that ought not be jabbing him, like spikes stabbing into his chest.

He grabbed the woman by the shoulders and held her out at arm's length. "What's wrong sweet'art?" she asked. It became very, very apparent now that things were not as they seemed. Her eyes had shifted from their normal coloration to an explosion of color with pinprick irises. With a yelp of surprise, Michael pushed the thing away. Eva's form shifted and rebuilt itself in a way that somehow resembled oil sliding across glass. Horns appeared, her dreadlocks turned to fleshy tendrils, her hands shifted into wicked crab like claws and her feet morphed into demonic talons. Her clothing melted into her and was replaced with a runed leather corset exposing one female breast.

"Fuckin' demons," muttered Michael. The Eva!Daemon lashed out with a claw, and Michael just barely jumped back, tripping over the carpet and falling to the floor. He scrambled away into the kitchen as the daemonette strode forward, her hips swaying back and forth and her breasts jiggling ever so slightly. It would have been almost hot if she wasn't so warped and tainted looking.

"Oh stop," cooed the demon as Michael got to his feet. The kitchen was nothing more than some counters, a fridge, a stove and a sink set into an alcove. It was almost a hallway in shape, and with only once exit.

"Don't you want some?" asked the daemonette seductively, running her clawed hands down her body and flashing bedroom eyes at the young man. Amazingly, Michael kept his gaze averted. It was either due to an almost superhuman willpower, or thanks to the years of surfing the internet that all but crushed his interest in the bizarre and perverse. He fumbled in one of the counter drawers as the daemonette felt herself up, patiently waiting for her prey to turn and become hers once again. Eventually, he found what he was looking for. Michael withdrew a large butcher knife from the drawer, gripping it tight. Only then did he turn his attention back to the daemonette.

"That's it sweetheart," she said, "Look at me." She spread her clawed arms wide, showing off her exotic but perverse body. Michael couldn't help but stare. With the exception of a few defects-the Slaanesh brandings, a few spikes here and there-she was quite attractive. Maybe staying here wouldn't be so bad.

You've got work to do pawn, came a voice from the recesses of Michael's mind.

The man's expression of wonder and lust quickly shifted to anger. Knife in hand, he reversed the grip. "Fuck your shit." he growled, then plunged the knife into his chest. The deamonette screamed in rage and everything when white.

* * *

Michael woke up with a jolt. His breathing was heavy and there was a lingering pain in his chest. A few seconds after waking, the rest of his body began to ache. It took a moment for his optical implants to sort themselves out. The first thing he noticed was that he was trapped in something fleshy and warm. The second thing he noticed was the dead cultist on the ground in front of him wearing little more than half a loincloth and several pounds of piercings. The cultist was obviously dead, seeing as half of his head was more or less vaporized.

Looking around, he realized that he was in the remains of an industrial facility. The walls were covered in fleshy growths in various disturbing and perverted shapes. He made a note that the level of pervertedness was more to the "squicky" end as opposed to the "I'd hit it" end. It took Michael some time for his memory to return to him, like remembering what happened after a night of drinking. They-he and his squad-had been tasked by their higher ups for a mission behind enemy lines. Apparently the High Command had finally caught wind of the demon summoning going on and figured that one squad of highly trained guardsmen was better than a Space Marine squad or, heaven forbid, the attentions of the Grey Knights. Why he and his squad were tasked was beyond him though he wouldn't discount the possibility of divine meddling. The squad's Valkyrie was shot down somewhere in the industrial district. He didn't remember the crash though, and briefly wondered why he wasn't more hurt.

"Oh, you're awake" came a voice. It was cold, calculating, and grating.

"Hello Tzeentch," replied Michael glumly as he hung by his arms from a pair of fleshy growths.

"How did you know that knife trick would work?" asked the Chaos God, stepping out from behind a too-thin I-beam.

"I didn't," confessed Michael, "but I figured it was the better alternative. Beats getting space-herpies from some demon girl." He struggled to pull his arms free, but the fleshy growths held tight and made sucking noises. "Think you could, you know, help?" asked Michael to the Chaos God.

"Oh, since you asked so nicely," replied the God dryly. He walked up to the growths and simply put a clawed hand on them. Almost instantly, they evaporated in eldritch smoke which Tzeentch seemed to absorb.

"Warp stuff?" asked Michael as he massaged his one fleshy arm, and Tzeentch nodded his avian head.

"Well, I take it from the cultist and these...things," he motioned to the fleshy growths, "that I'm pretty deep in Slaaneshi territory? And if that's the case, then I'm probably here by your doing, which means there's a Greater Demon I have to beat down." The Chaos God said nothing, only smiled. He then lifted a clawed hand, snapped his fingers, and blinked out in a flash of white light.

"Asshole," muttered Michael. He now had three objectives. Find the rest of his squad, beat the hell out of a greater demon, and get back to friendly lines. Yessiree, it was going to be a rich, full day.

* * *

Author's Notes: Fuuuuuuuuuck this is late. Like really stupidly late. I blame job hunting and Minecraft (Also my own procrastination, but oh well). Regardless of how well this chapter may or may not be written, I hate it. In my opinion, it's tricky as fuck to write for Slaanesh or anything related to him/her/it. For the longest time, I though "How the fuck am I going to start this chapter and get to the Greater Slaaneshi Demon fight?" So a week or two ago I thought "Fuck it, dream sequence then 'Oh yeah, THIS is what really happened'." Well at least this trainwreck of a chapter is done with, so we can get back to cracking skulls and kicking asses. Also yeah, I know deamonettes are supposed to be crazy supernaturally sexyfied, but 1) Michael is the protagonist, and 2) he's got Tzeentch providing divine cover. The second bit is gonna be REALLY important in the Greater Demon fights (Especially the Khorne fight).

Also, for the musically inclined, might want to bookmark "Coat of Arms" by Sabaton on youtube for the Khorne chapters. Shit's gonna get _crazy_ then.


	18. Why'd it have to be clowns?

**Why'd it have to be clowns?**

The situation was grim, even by the standards of the 41st millennium. Stuck deep in enemy territory, surrounded by said enemy, who could summon demons, alone, and unarmed.

"Fuck." grumbled Michael as he looked around. The fleshy growths were caked all over the structure Michael found himself in. Well, what was left of the structure. It looked to be an old industrial building, or maybe a warehouse. It was all very bleak and metallic, at least where the obscene fleshy warp growths hadn't latched on. The roof had caved in and parts of it were on fire, though the hole was more like a gouge. Already the Slaaneshi growths were starting to fill in the hole.

The room itself was rather bare. A dirt and debris covered floor, a few I-beam supports jutting up and forming a sort of latticework with the growths taking up most of the upper reaches. One of the walls on the other side was knocked down and Michael could see flames and twisted metal. With a shrug, he slowly set off in that direction, glancing all around for signs of movement.

Stepping out of the warehouse, Michael took notice of the source of the flames. It was an Imperial Valkyrie that had taken a nosedive into the pavement. It was in more or less one piece, much to the soldier's surprise, with only a wing torn off, embedded into a building further down. The pilots were obviously dead, seeing as bits of them were strewn about the front of the Valkyrie. The transport cabin had been looted and thankfully there were no other bodies beyond the pilots. That either meant that Michael's squad members were still alive or the cultists had carted the bodies away.

He was about to move on to try and find his squad mates when a flash of movement caught his eye. It came from above, a streak of color going from one ruined rooftop to another. Michael stood and stared for a moment. Another flash of color, an almost blinding array of blues, greens and other outlandish colors. Then another, and another and another.

"Damnit," was all Michael could utter as he broke into a run after the figures.

Deep in Slaaneshi territory, lightning fast figures in colorful outfits heading deeper into Chaos territory. In Michael's mind, that meant only one thing.

Harlequins.

Ducking into a doorway, he ran through a bombed out warehouse, keeping an eye on the roofs and exposed latticework. There were more of the obscene growths on the metal supports and the walls and the numbers seemed to grow as he ran. He passed intact crates stamped with the Ministorium seal, some were defaced with Chaos symbols, mostly the Star of Chaos and the Slaaneshi symbol. Briefly, he worried that the Chaos symbols didn't affect him like they did the other Guardsmen.

Throwing his metal right shoulder against a door at the end of the warehouse, Michael busted out into a courtyard. There were anti-air emplacements positions amidst supply crates and milling cultists. One such Slaaneshi cultist was standing not twenty feet from the door, directly in Michael's path. Not having time to slow, he brought his metal prosthetic up, grabbed the surprised cultist by the head, and slammed the back of their skull into a supply crate. The cultist's skull cracked open like a ripe melon. Sliding into cover, the guardsman snatched up the cultist's lasrifle-an archaic pattern, but still serviceable-and opened fire on the only now reacting Chaos minion.

Imperial Guard bootcamp and his own "training"-several years of playing shooting games-helped him rack up the kill count on the cultists. The Guard taught him how to shoot, video games taught him WHAT to shoot. Cultists dropped left and right, starting with ones already holding weapons, then ones milling around munitions and fuel canisters. The courtyard lit up with explosions and lasfire. Michael kept moving, taking potshots when there was an opening in the crates. He was finally pinned down when he dove behind a some sandbags encircling a Hydra gun emplacement.

"Shit," growled the young man, poking his rifle out and picking off another cultist. Ok, situation analysis. Pinned down, one clip of ammo, no backup and more of the enemy than he could handle. Well there was only one option: Go down fighting.

Michael was about to stand up and deliver another salvo of lasfire when the enemy stopped firing. There was a "Fft fft fft" sound and cultists started dropping, plumes of blood erupting from the entry wounds. In an instant, blurs of color were dancing through the crates, leaving cultist corpses in their wake.

The troupe had arrived.

Seeing his chance, Michael jumped up and ran over to the Hydra battery. Throwing open the hatch, he climbed in, grabbed the control and swiveled the flak cannon about and down. Though the narrow port, he could see some of the color blurs pause, then leap away. It was only then he squeezed the triggers, turning the wooden supply crates to splinters and the remaining cultists into a fine red mist. Michael then turned the battery on the other Hydra emplacements, sending them up in a fireball. Once everything was a smoking ruin, he started grabbing the controls with his prosthetic and began tearing the battery apart.

Stepping out of the now inoperable Hydra battery, Michael slowly moved through the crates, looting weapons and ammo from the bodies. Looking up from one of the bodies that had gotten mulched by the flak gun, he realized that he was surrounded by the Harlequins. One by one, their Holo-fields lowered, revealing thin humanoids decked out in eccentrically colored garb and stylized masks. They wielded pistols and swords in the typical Eldar style.

"Clever." said Michael as he slung his lasrifle over his shoulder and put his hands up. He wasn't about to be killed by some some space clowns. he had more important things to do, like rescue his squad, murder a handful of demons and kick a god's ass up and down the multiverse

* * *

Author's Notes: Ah yes, another difficult to write chapter. I tend to not plan things (With the exception of a few key bits) and I kept wondering "What would Michael do now?". Seriously, I'll be damn happy when I get through the Slaanesh chapters (Maybe two more chapters left in this "arc"?). Next chapter however will be an interlude. A sort of "Meanwhile, back at the ranch" chapter.


End file.
